


Dust To Dust

by KyloTrashForever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (Stress on ATTEMPTED), Alternate Universe - Regency, And Bugged All My Friends, Anglican, Attempted Sexual Assault, Ben Is A Clergyman, Bible Quotes, Church Sex, Desk Sex, Even Though I’ve Googled More This Week Than I Have In My Entire Life, F/M, Forbidden Love, Historical Inaccuracy, It’s Very Brief and Not Vividly Described No Worries, I’m Assuming, Loss of Virginity, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Misuse of Scripture, My Minor Violence Accidentally Got Less Minor, Porn with Feelings, Priest Ben Solo, Priest Kink, Regency, Regency Romance, Religious Guilt, Ruining The Song Of Solomon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), he deserves it though, priestlo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: “Life has not been kind to you, it seems.”Her laugh is low and tinged with bitterness. “Indeed. I feel rather like a bird that has been pushed from its nest as of late.”He takes a step, nearing the chaise where she rests. “The Lord offers comfort for all his children—” She feels her pulse quicken as his hand extends— her eyes widening as his fingers brush against her shoulder. “—even you, little bird.”In which Rey seeks comfort in the arms of the Lord— or rather his servant.





	1. Little Bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asongforjonsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongforjonsa/gifts).



> So this has consumed my week and I have a handful of chapters written with no sign of stopping until I’m done— so hopefully quick updates until the end. Thank you to my wife, ohwise1ne for listening to me bitch and moan about this for days, to asongforjonsa for the prompt and much of the same thing, and to fettucine_alfreylo for catching so many historical inaccuracies and easing my mind (and also for listening to my bitching and moaning— I’ve done a lot of that this week, okay?)
> 
> Titled after [this](https://youtu.be/yJbmXvBJhCs) Civil War’s song of the same name. 
> 
> For Kelly, who deserves all the pretty priestlo.

__

* * *

 

_I’m sorry, dear. Sorry to leave you alone like this. You are stronger than you know— and I have no doubts that you will weather through this._

His words echo like pebbles in a dry well.

She doesn’t _feel_ strong.

In fact— looking at the lifeless face of her late husband, she feels rather hopeless.

There are faces she doesn’t recognize— they offer words of comfort, of _peace—_ but what peace is there for her now? A countess in name only— without any family left to speak of— she has never been more alone.

Her fingers grip at the bolts of black silk that compose her skirt— saddened by the last gift he’d given her. Her heart breaks at the thought of the last kindness from her only friend in the world being the dress she would wear to his own funeral rites.

The soft voice of the vicar pulls her attention— trying to give him her eyes and her ears and ignore the sorrow in her chest. His voice is soothing— deep and strong even in its quiet, and she lets it seep into her bones to ease the weariness there.

_“All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.”_

He says a prayer then— something to mend spirits and soothe hearts— but she finds her heart unchanged. Like a stone in the river, it remains heavy and immovable.

For as all other things in Rey’s life— just as she had begun to know happiness— it had been stolen away.

* * *

_“...only been four months.”_

_“What will happen to the estate?”_

_“...surely she won’t stay.”_

Rey tries to ignore the whispers— but they drift around her from all sides. The place she’s come to call home is now filled with mourners and people who call themselves _friends_ of Lord San Tekka— but she finds it strange that she has never seen most of their faces before the day they laid him to rest.

She prefers to hide herself away in the drawing room— clinging to the guise of grief to excuse away her rudeness. Not that her grief is a falsehood, by any mean. It is merely overshadowed by the weighted cover of uncertainty for her future. At only nineteen she can barely be called a dowager— and with no heirs to speak of, she isn’t even sure if she will be allowed to stay.

She has no idea what the future has in store for her, and she finds herself afraid.

A knock pulls her from her musings, and she moves to stand, to straighten herself, to _compose—_ but then the door is opening and a man steps inside, and she breathes a sigh of relief because at least _this_ visitor surely isn’t here for gossip’s sake.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know this room was occupied.”

She shakes her head. “That’s quite alright. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The vicar leaves the door ajar, taking a step further inside and bowing slightly at the waist. “Benjamin Solo, my lady.”

_My lady._

She wonders if that will be true when the day is done.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solo,” she extends. “I only wish it were of more pleasant circumstances.”

Her melancholy must read on her expression, because Mr. Solo gives her a look of concern. “Apologies for overstepping, my lady, but how are you faring?”

“As good as one can hope, I suppose,” she tells him truthfully. “It’s been a trying day.”

“I can only imagine,” he sympathizes. “I did not have the pleasure of meeting Lord San Tekka before his passing— but I hear he was a good man.”

Rey nods. “He was very kind to me. I only wish we’d had more time to know one another.”

“To be married and widowed within the same year… a tragedy.”

Rey doesn’t acknowledge this— choosing to glance away for fear her expression might betray her emotions. It is hard to explain her grief— expected to be mourning a husband and yet grieving for the loss of a friend instead. It is an odd thing, to be sure.

She finally gives him her attention again, changing the subject. “You were not the clergyman who attended our wedding.”

He shakes his head. “That would have been my uncle. I only recently came to obtain a living when he passed.”

“Ah, I am sorry for your loss.”

“I could say the same.”

She nods thoughtfully, growing tired and moving to rest against the chaise from where she’d been sitting when he came in. “Then you’re not from Castle Combe?”

“When I was a boy, my lady— but have spent most of my years in Chippenham. Since I was eleven.”

Rey can’t help the ghost of a smile that paints her lips. “I grew up in Chippenham.”

She finds she likes the smile he offers her in return. It’s kind— something she’s missed in the days since her husband’s passing. “A shame we’d not been introduced on a happier occasion. Is your family still there?”

“My mother passed when I was a child, and my father—” She frowns down at the floor. “Just last winter.”

“My condolences,” he murmurs, and when she glances up to meet his gaze— she finds it sincere. Warm, even. His brown eyes full of genuine kindness. It thaws the cold dread that has made a home inside her. “Life has not been kind to you, it seems.”

Her laugh is low and tinged with bitterness. “Indeed. I feel rather like a bird that has been pushed from its nest as of late.”

“Ah, well.” He takes a step, nearing the chaise where she rests. “The Lord offers comfort for all his children—” She feels her pulse quicken as his hand extends— her eyes widening as his fingers brush against her shoulder in what she assumes is a comforting gesture— but she is not used to such casual touching. “—even you, little bird.”

He remains that way for several seconds, and she catches the moment when he realizes just how improper this all is. His gaze seems to clear, his eyes widening just a fraction as he straightens hastily.

“Apologies,” he mutters embarrassingly. “I’m forgetting myself. I’m still… very new at this, you see. Please forgive me.”

She gives a slow nod. “Of course. Already forgotten.”

He can’t seem to look at her now, and she wonders what could have caused him such distress. Yes, it was an overstep to touch her in such a familiar way, but it isn’t as if there is anyone here to notice.

“Mr. Solo, would you—”

The words die on her tongue, the door to the drawing room pushing open a little wider as her lady’s maid presses inside. “Lady San Tekka, I—” She trails off, her eyes landing on Mr. Solo still standing only a few feet away from Rey, giving him a curious expression. “Pardon me, ma’am. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Mr. Solo looks a little flustered, and Rey quickly makes to save him from himself. “No apologies necessary, Kaydel. Mr. Solo was just going over some last minute details for the funeral expenses.”

He looks back at her, his eyes grateful, and she gives him a polite nod. “Yes,” he stammers a little before clearing his throat. “I think that will be all, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Rey says quietly. “For today. You’ve been a great help.”

That warm expression is back, and she thinks to herself that she wouldn’t object to seeing more of it. She could use a friend in this place. “Of course,” he offers. “Please do not hesitate to call should you need anything from myself or the church. We will continue to pray for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He gives a nod, casting a lingering look on her face. “My lady,” he murmurs, turning on his heel as his cassock flutters slightly behind him and disappearing from view. She is a little sad to see him go— the first pleasant interaction she’s had in days. She shakes off her musings, returning her attention to Kaydel instead.

“Did you need something?”

“Ah, yes, my lady.” She gives a short curtsy before offering a grim look. “The lord’s nephew has taken up in the parlour— along with who I’m told is an solicitor.”

“Whatever for?”

“Well for the reading of the will, ma’am.”

Rey rubs her temples. “Kaydel, how many times have I asked you to call me Rey? I feel like an old maid when you refer to me as _ma’am._ We’re the same age, after all.”

“Apologies, ma’am— I mean—” Kaydel looks  uncomfortable, and Rey knows it goes against everything she’s been taught to ask such a thing of her.

“Never mind, it’s all right,” Rey assures wearily. “I suppose I have bigger problems.”

“Shall I fetch Mr. Threepio to sit in with you?”

Rey shakes her head, knowing to bring her butler to such an affair would only be a sign of weakness. Being only nineteen is enough of a slight against her as it is. “No,” Rey states firmly. “I will handle this on my own.”

She moves to stand, smoothing her skirts and taking a deep breath

_You are stronger than you know._

She hopes he’s right.

* * *

She’s never met her would-be nephew, but eyeing his barely-checked look of disdain now— she thinks perhaps this had been just another kindness afforded to her by the late lord.

“My lady,” the attorney greets with a short bow of his head. “I’m sorry we’ve never been introduced— my name is Temmin Wexley. I oversaw your late husband's affairs.”

She gives a curt nod, still wary of strangers but put somewhat at ease by the kind smile he gives her. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes though— not like Mr. Solo’s did.

_Where did that come from?_

She isn’t sure why his face flashes through her mind— but she tells herself it is because he had been so kind to her. She quickly brings her attention to the present, focusing on the situation at hand.

“I appreciate you coming.”

“Of course.” He waits politely for her to gesture him to his seat, and she does so before sitting across from him. When they’re settled, he begins sorting through a thin stack of papers on the table.

“Lord San Tekka made several addendums to his will after your marriage. Most of them are fairly straightforward.” He casts his eyes across the table then to the other attendants of this sad affair. “Now, Mr. Hux, you are the only living male relative of Lord San Tekka, correct?”

Mr. Hux flicks his eyes to Rey then, and she could swear there is a bit of a sneer at his mouth. “That’s correct. He had… no children to speak of.” His eyes pass over her then, and she feels a lurch in her stomach from his scrutiny. “His marriage to Lady San Tekka came as a complete surprise given he was so… late in years.”

“I see.” Mr. Wexley spares another glance at his paperwork. “There _are_ certain bequeathments to you and your house. Lord San Tekka leaves you his townhouse in Chippenham— as well as a good number of horses from his stables. There is also a fair bit of stocks and bonds to be settled…” He flips another page before looking at Rey. “However, the bulk of his fortune, as well as the main estate and all the surrounding lands— he leaves to his late wife.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ The outburst comes from her left— Mr. Hux slapping a hand to the table in anger. “This is preposterous. They’ve been married for only a matter of _months.”_

Mr. Wexley cocks an eyebrow. “That’s hardly an issue. She is his legitimate wife, and the stipulations of his will are clear.”

“He cannot possibly leave behind his fortune to a dowager without an heir. How can we even be certain the marriage is legitimate?”

“It was performed by a listed clergyman, and I oversaw the documents myself.”

Hux snorts. “How can we be sure that it was _consummated?”_

Rey blanches, feeling that same cold dread that’s gripped her creeping up her spine. Mr. Wexley looks appalled. “That is _hardly_ an appropriate topic in front of the lady.”

“It is _completely_ appropriate in the face of this farce you’ve sprung on me.”

“Now listen here, sir—”

Mr. Hux moves to stand. “ _You_ listen,” he snaps. “This will not stand. I assure you that I will not be accepting this.” He turns his heated gaze on Rey then. “And you, _my lady—_ I assure _you_ this isn’t over. I will return with my own attorney. A more _competent_ one.”

He casts one last look to Rey with barely concealed rage, stomping from the room and letting the door slam behind him. Rey flinches at the sound of it and lets loose a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Mr. Wexley looks completely taken aback, shaking his head incredulously. “I am terribly sorry you had to endure that, my lady. I assure you these documents are completely binding, and there is little Mr. Hux can do to contest them.”

She finds her voice too quiet, full of the doubt she feels. “But there is _something?”_

Mr. Wexley looks sheepish. “He could petition to have the marriage annulled pending… an examination. If you are found… untouched.” He looks terribly embarrassed to be speaking of such things, but to his credit he continues. “However, he would he hard pressed to find a judge to approve such a practice in this day and age.”

“I see,” she says quietly. “I suppose I will deal with whatever happens in due time.”

“Don’t worry, my lady,” Mr. Wexley encourages kindly. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Yours is… a legitimate marriage, is it not?”

She wills her expression into a passive one. “Of course.”

“Then all will be well I’m sure.”

She doesn’t allow herself to feel relief at his words, the unadulterated anger on her _nephew’s_ face still fresh on her mind. She has no doubt she will see him again.

It’s only a question of _when._


	2. A Shepherd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I should have explained— the “little bird” SanSan moment really came for me in last week’s GoT and here we are letting it bleed into this fic so like— I guess that’s here to stay. Also I can’t stop writing this so I guess everything else goes on hold till we’re done. Y’all bear with me. 😂

The cobblestones beneath him all seem to blur together.

It’s been this way for days— unable to focus due to the hazel eyes that haunt his waking thoughts.

He wonders if it is a sin— how much he thinks of her. Surely it is something to be repented, the way his thoughts drift to her eyes and her mouth throughout all hours of the day.

It is strange to think she would have such a hold on him, having only met her for a moment. Perhaps it was the sadness in her eyes— that vulnerability that called to him. That struck him with an urge to offer respite.

Surely that is all it is.

It is only the shepherd in him— drawn to a wayward sheep.

But she is nothing like a sheep. There is a rigidity to her spine, a hardness to her jaw that tells him she needs no shepherd.

_Little bird._

That’s what he’d called her in a moment of weakness— in a fleeting instance of surrender to his more basic instincts. He can still feel the brush of silk from her gown against his fingertips— and his ears heat in remembrance of such an overstep.

His thoughts _should_ be mindful of the calls he’s made this morning— of the ones he must _still_ make— but he can’t seem to keep his thoughts centralized around last rites and sick children. Can’t seem to focus on his _duty._

 _Yes,_ he thinks after a while. _It is surely a sin, this._

It is only when he spares a glance from the street that he decides the Lord must be testing him— spotting the object of his unwilling obsession exiting from the dressmaker’s just down the way.

Her dress is a soft blue— fluttering around her legs to allow a hint of the supple leather of her walking boots. Her Spencer jacket is only a shade darker than her dress, the loose ties that hang from her bonnet resting against her shoulders and framing her face as she turns to murmur something to her lady’s maid.

He could turn and leave in the opposite direction— and if he were a stronger man, a _better_ man— he would.

But he doesn’t.

She doesn’t notice him until he crosses the street, pausing mid-step even after her lady’s maid continues on after her.

“Lady San Tekka.” He tries to keep his tone even— his eyes on her instead of drifting to her mouth. “It’s good to see you out and about.”

“Mr. Solo,” she greets quietly, watching as he gives a slight bow at the waist. “It’s good to be out, truthfully.”

“How are you faring?”

Her mouth turns upwards in a soft smile, and his pulse quickens. “Not the first time you’ve asked me this.”

“Ah, I—” What is it about her that makes him lose all his senses? He feels rather like a schoolboy again. “I worry for the well being of all my parishioners.”

She gives him a nod. “Of course. My apologies for any other implications.”

“No, I didn’t—” Heaven help him, she makes it hard to think. “I only meant— I hope you are well. Considering.”

He sees the way her expression falters slightly, and he wonders if it is only grief that worries her so. He isn’t sure why he longs to be her confidant.

_A shepherd. Only a shepherd._

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Solo.” She seems genuine in this, and he feels a flutter in his chest that gives him a fright. He quickly brushes it away to focus on her words instead. “The aftermath of my husband’s passing is… trying, to be sure. I am managing as best I can.”

“Of course.” He notices her lady’s maid returning then, seeming to have noticed that the lady has halted on the street. “I only wanted to extend that should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.” He sees the way her brow lifts slightly— and he realizes the implications of what he’s just said. That she could ask _him._ “What I mean is,” he stumbles, “the church is more than willing to be of service should you need it.”

“Ah,” she nods, looking away from him. “I appreciate the kindness, Mr. Solo.” Her eyes flick to his again, and he is left still so bewildered by the way he could surely get lost in them if he allowed himself to. “From the church, of course,” she clarifies.

“Of course,” he murmurs, feeling as if he has said the wrong thing and not understanding why. “Perhaps you would like to attend the next service? I know it was difficult to join with your husband's illness in the past few months— but perhaps the house of God could offer respite in these troubled times.”

“Respite,” she echoes, her tongue seeming to test the word as it leaves her mouth in a slight laugh. “Yes. Perhaps it would. Of course I will be there. It is long overdue.”

“That is excellent news, my lady,” he tells her truthfully, unsure if his joy is for God’s sake or his own. “There is always refuge to be found in the Lord’s house for his children.”

She offers another smile— still not meeting her eyes but making his breath catch all the same. “Even for little birds like me.”

He finds air in short supply then, holding his breath because her _eyes_ have some glimmer of _something_ that he wants to understand more than anything he’s ever known. “Yes,” he answers quietly. “Even then.”

“Then I shall see you then, Mr. Solo. Thank you for your kind words of comfort.”

“Go with God,” he manages, still trying to make sense of the sensations in his stomach.

She only nods in answer— turning to continue on with her lady’s maid in the opposite direction. Ben doesn’t understand the urge to follow— to protect her from whatever ailments plague her. There is a sadness that clings to Lady San Tekka— or _Rey,_ as he only allows himself to refer her in the safety of his own mind— that he wants to take from her.

He’s heard the rumors of she and her husband’s hasty marriage— it is hard to ignore the whispers even if he wishes he could. He didn’t know what to expect upon finally meeting her— and he certainly didn’t expect for her to plague his thoughts in the days following.

He thinks perhaps her agreement to be more active in services will ease his troubled spirit. That bringing her closer to God will quiet this unease that she instills in him.

He can only pray that he’s right.

* * *

“My lady.”

Rey looks up from her vanity— finding Kaydel peeking in the doorway.

“Yes?”

Kaydel looks wary. “There is… a visitor at the door for you.”

“Who is it?”

Kaydel chews at her bottom lip. “It’s your nephew, my lady.”

Rey feels hot coals settle in her belly. “Could we— could we ask him to return later? I am—” She swallows against the lump forming in her throat. “I am readying for service.”

“I know, ma’am,” Kaydel offers meekly. “Mr. Threepio tried to send him away, but he is… rather insistent.”

Rey puts down her brush, fighting the tightness forming in her chest. She’d thought today might be a happy one. It seems she’d been wrong.

“Give me a moment, Kaydel.” She hopes her voice doesn’t betray her nerves. “I will be down shortly.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She leaves then— closing the door behind her and Rey allows herself to breathe freely. To allow the panic that bubbles inside her to overflow. She knew he’d come— of _course_ she did— but not this soon. It’s barely been five days.

The descent down the staircase is a slow one— and she knows she’s stalling a bit. Mr. Threepio meets her at the end of them, informing her that he let Mr. Hux into the drawing room to wait for her. She lingers outside the door for only a moment— steeling her spine for whatever awaits her inside.

She takes a deep breath.

She opens the door.

She finds him standing near the window— _her window—_ turning slightly as she enters and offering a slight bow at the waist. He is much calmer than she remembers. She has gathered enough about him during their brief interaction to know she should be wary of this.

“Mr. Hux.”

He places a hand at his chest, offering what she assumes he thinks is a pleasant smile. “Please, my lady, call me Armitage. We are family after all, are we not?”

She stands fast near her place by the door. “I suppose we are, yes.”

“I’ve given a great deal of thought to our predicament.”

“I fail to see where there lies a predicament… Armitage.”

“Ah,” he smiles, the action anything but kind. “That’s where I must politely disagree. You see, I think there is _quite_ a predicament.”

He takes a step towards her, and she instinctively takes one in the opposite direction to put distance between them. “The will was clear. It is no fault of mine if you have grievances with it.”

“But I think we both know that it isn’t as clear as you’d like.”

She sucks in a breath, recognizing the glee in his eyes and feeling the fear trickle through her veins. She casts her eyes to the floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do, _my lady._ I think we _both_ know the condition my uncle was in when you married. In fact— it only took a little digging to get to the root of your nuptials and why they even came about at all.”

She swallows— finding her tongue dry and her throat even more so. “It’s— it’s because—”

“There’s no need to lie,” he croons, his voice like a poison with the way it drips from his lips. “Not anymore.”

“What do you want?” She hates the way her voice betrays her terror, the knowledge of what this man could do to her far too real. “What do you _want_ from me?”

“I merely want to extend a helping hand,” he informs her. “A solution, as it were.”

“Such as?”

His grin widens, and he again takes a step that brings him closer— standing just in front of her. “I would be… _more_ than happy to take your hand. By binding yourself to me, you can ensure that you will continue to live in comfort.”

The thought makes her cringe, the idea of being married to this hateful man enough to leave an acrid taste in her mouth. “I would never.”

“You say that now.” There’s an edge to his voice now, and she recognizes the thin facade of his calm cracking. “But I doubt very much someone as—” He gives a slow look down the length of her, and Rey feels as if she is naked in front of him. It makes her feel sick. “— _soft_ as you are would do well on the streets. You’d fare much better in my bed.”

Her mouth falls open, the audacity that he would speak to her in such a way enough to give her pause. Enough to allow him to step closer— his finger pressing just under her chin to tilt it upwards. His touch on her skin is entirely unpleasant— and she hates the familiarity of it. Hates that she is helpless to stop it.

“You will _never_ touch me,” she all but spits.

He snarls then, and suddenly the gentle press of his finger at her chin is a hard grip of his entire hand at her jaw. “You think you’re so high and mighty. You’re nothing. You _come_ from nothing. Being my wife would be more than you could ever _dream_ of.”

“It would be a _nightmare.”_

Some enraged sound escapes him, and he pushes her face away with more force than necessary. She longs to run her fingers over the soreness there— but she’s willing herself to be strong. To not show him all the fear that lives inside her.

He points a finger at her menacingly. “I gave you an offer that was _more_ than generous— but if you’re going to turn up your nose at me— then I will resort to other means.” He brushes past her— lingering at the door as he wrenches it open. “I had thought to reason with you, but I see now that you aren’t as sensible as I first thought you to be. I have a court order for a thorough investigation into the legitimacy of your _marriage._ I will return tomorrow with a doctor. I think we both know what he will find. Perhaps then you will _beg_ for my bed.”

“I would rather sleep in the stables for the rest of my life than spend one night in your bed,  _Armitage.”_

He sneers, huffing out a breath through his nostrils with a shake of his head. “Perhaps you will get your chance. Good day, _my lady.”_

It is only when he turns on his heel, the door slamming behind him with a deafening sound, does Rey allow herself to feel the crushing dread that consumes her. She sinks to the floor— her skirts pooling around her and her face falling in her hands because there is _no hope._

There is no one coming to save her this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooo whatever is a lady to do with her virtue  
>  _Alexa, play Like A Prayer by Madonna_


	3. Only Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Alexa, play Like A Virgin._

Rey had every intention of attending services that day.

If she’s being honest— she’d even looked forward to it. The kindness Mr. Solo exudes is easy to crave. There is so little of it left in Rey’s life. She tells herself it is God that she wishes to be closer to— but even to her it sounds weak.

She sits now at the chaise in the drawing room— lingering in her favorite spot as she stares out the window to the garden below. Her thoughts linger on the her encounter from that morning— her eyes wet and her stomach roiling.

She’d known Mr. Hux would return— and if she weren’t so filled with dread by his visit— she might even applaud his dedication. She certainly hadn’t expected him back before the week had even let out.

With a promise to return by morning— both with his doctor _and_ his order’s from some judge he’d found from some seedy corner of God knows where— there is little hope for Rey.

She knows what they will find upon an examination.

She wonders if her late husband had ever considered what would happen to her upon his passing. She wonders now if she should have so readily agreed to his refusal to touch her.

At the time, she’d seen it as kindness— a final gift from her father’s oldest friend who swore to care for her after his passing.

Now it feels like a death sentence.

For what awaits her when they discover her marriage was never consummated? _Will_ she be thrown out into the streets? Stripped of the meager title she barely clings to? Where will she go?

She’s faced many instances of hardship in her years— when she’d lost her mother, when her family had fallen on hard times, when her father had grown ill only to leave her completely. None of it compares to the fear she feels now— with no idea of what her future holds.

She isn’t sure what she can do from here.

She jolts a little when a knock sounds at the drawing room door, quickly trying to wipe at her eyes for fear that they will see her at her weakest.

She offers a a weak, “Come in.”

The door presses open— Mr. Threepio poking his head inside and giving her a concerned expression. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, my lady— but you have a visitor.”

Rey feels panic well inside her. “Is it—?”

Mr. Threepio quickly shakes his head. “Not your nephew, my lady. A Mr. Benjamin Solo.”

She feels her heart beating a wild rhythm in her chest— warring with confusion because _why is he here?_

“You let him in?”

“He seemed rather concerned… should I send him away?”

 _Yes_ , she thinks. _It is best no one sees you like this._

But her mind lingers on his kind smile and his kinder words and she wants _so badly_ for someone to just tell her that everything will be all right and perhaps it is God’s will that he be that person. Otherwise, why would he arrive at her door with such fortuitous timing?

She shakes her head instead. “That’s quite all right, you may send him in.”

Mr. Threepio nods his assent, closing the door to fetch him, and Rey quickly attempts to straighten her dress and her hair and most certainly her _face_ that is surely still stained with tears. She only hopes he doesn’t see right through her.

He’s in the same black suit he’d worn in town the other day, nothing but the white band at his throat to give any inkling to his profession. His dark hair curls at the collar, and she briefly wonders if it is as soft to touch as it looks.

“Lady San Tekka.” His brow is furrowed in confusion, taking in her countenance with concern. “You’re upset.”

She laughs humorlessly, the sound forced and choked. “You’ve caught me at a strange time, Mr. Solo. I find myself surprised by your visit.”

A look passes over his features that tells her she is not the only one who is surprised. “You—” He clears his throat. “You weren’t at service this morning.”

“Ah.” She isn’t sure why she feels disheartened to learn that he is here on church business. “‘My apologies. I received some rather… difficult news that has left me quite incapacitated, I’m afraid.”

His lips curl downward in a frown. “Can I assist you in any way?”

She could almost laugh again.

“No, I don’t think there’s any help for me.”

“I could lend an ear, if that might ease your burden?”

She _does_ laugh this time. “I don’t think you’d wish to hear of this burden.”

He cautiously takes a seat at the opposite end of the chaise— leaving ample room between them for decency’s sake. “I just want to be of service— however that may be.”

“Confession is something that is no longer done, Mr. Solo,” she remarks with only a hint of the bitterness this day has instilled inside her.

“Call it a kindness between friends then.”

“Are we?” She turns to meet his gaze. “Friends?”

She watches as his throat bobs with his swallow, her eyes lingering at his mouth as his lips clench together in a nervous manner. “I’d like to be.”

She studies him for a moment— his kind eyes and soft mouth and she realizes then just how much she _likes_ studying him. In the disastrous occasion of their first meeting— she hadn’t even allowed herself to consider that she might possibly find him handsome. Not that it matters now.

“I suppose you’ve heard the gossip in town,” she says finally. “That mine was a marriage of convenience.”

He glances away from her. “I try not to put much faith in idle talk.”

“In this case,” she continues. “The talk is not so idle. The rumors are true.”

“Then Lord San Tekka…?”

“My father’s dearest friend from childhood.”

“Ah,” Mr. Solo nods, “and your father…”

“Fell ill last winter. It was clear that he would not live to see the new year— and so he called upon his friend for aid. We had very little money to speak of— my father’s business going under some years before— and it is only by the grace of Lord San Tekka that we even kept bread on our table. He was… an incredibly good man. He didn’t even hesitate to marry himself to me. A poor merchant’s daughter with no title.”

“He sounds as though he was very kind.”

Rey nods wistfully. “Truly, he was. He even went to certain lengths in an attempt to keep the nature of my birth quiet. To dampen any idle talk of my parentage. Not that it mattered— people will always talk as I’m sure you well know.”

Mr. Solo nods. “Unfortunately.”

“However,” Rey sighs. “I did not know that the lord was ill himself. He didn’t even reveal it to me until _after_ we’d married. I had so little time to really know him.”

“I am sorry for the hardships you’ve faced, my lady,” he tells her— and the way his fists clench— she can almost imagine he wants to take her hand in comfort. It would be so easy, she thinks, and yet so very improper.

She keeps her hands firmly in her lap.

“But that is not the height of my worries it seems,” she mutters quietly. “Did you have the pleasure of meeting my _nephew—_ a Mr. Hux?”

“Ginger fellow?”

She nods. “The very same. He was… displeased with the results of my late husband’s will. Unsatisfied with the bequeathments he was bestowed.”

“He hasn’t _harassed_ you?”

“Not in any way that I won’t survive.”

Mr. Solo’s gaze darkens then, and it’s the first expression she’s seen from him that is less than kind. It borders on true fury, in fact. “Did he put his hands on you?”

“Only a little,” Rey sighs. “I assure you, I’m fine.”

“What a vile man,” he grinds out. “To put his hands on a lady.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she tells him. “Tomorrow— none of it will matter.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I missed service this morning because my _nephew_ paid me another visit.” She stares down into her lap, her fingers clenching at the fabric of her skirts. “He came with a proposition.”

She hears the sharp intake of breath from Mr. Solo, but still she doesn’t look at him. “What would that be?”

“Marry him— or he would return with a doctor to test the legitimacy of my marriage to the late lord.”

“The legitimacy of your…”

She notices the moment it clicks for him, sees his face flush and his mouth form a tight line. “I’m sorry to be so frank,” she offers. “I wasn’t aware of any other way to state my predicament.”

He isn’t looking at her now— cheeks still tinged slightly and staring down at the floor. “That’s— quite all right. That sounds… trying, to be sure.”

“Trying,” she chuckles darkly. “Yes. That’s one word for it.”

“But surely you are—” He swallows again, his eyes burning a hole into the bit of wood plank he’s fixated on. “Surely your marriage was—”

She supposes being _improper_ is the least of her worries now. What does it matter anyway? “It wasn’t.”

He _does_ look at her then— something in his eyes she can’t place. Something a bit desperate, actually. “It wasn’t?”

She shakes her head. “Not in any of the ways that matter.”

His mouth parts— his eyes wide and still so full of _something,_ and for a moment she is confused by his reaction. It isn’t a proper discussion, to be sure, but he looks so— so—

She sees it then.

She knows that she isn’t the only one who _enjoys_ studying the other.

Thoughts whirl in her head— blending together in a cacophony of noise like that of rushing water because it doesn’t even _matter_ now but she’s never _felt_ a spark like this and there isn’t a single thing she can—

Then everything settles into place.

An idea.

An _impossible_ idea.

One that could leave her forever shamed if she is wrong— if he isn’t receptive— but the way he’s _looking_ at her—

What choice does she have, really?

“You said,” she starts quietly, “that you wished to be of service to me. However that may be.”

His nod is slow— his confusion all over his face and _surely_ she will be condemned to hell for these thoughts but she is left _desperate._

She turns inward to face him— reaching slowly for his hand and hearing him suck in a breath as her fingers brush against his. “Perhaps you can help me.”

“H-how can I possibly—”

“I think perhaps you know.”

Her desperation has left her without shame. Left her without fear of what the consequences of her actions might be. The thought of being left at Armitage’s mercy— of him lording some _weight_ over her— it’s more than she can bear.

It makes her brave.

“Lady San Tekka, I—”

“I think you could call me, Rey.”

He swallows. “Lady— Lady Rey—”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It is so much to ask. _Too much—_ especially of you. Surely I will answer to God for this sin— for taking advantage of your kindness—” Her voice wavers then, her fear and all worry seeping into her bones. “You’re my only hope… Benjamin.”

He’s staring at her mouth— and she takes that as a good sign. It spurs her onward. She inches a little closer— her hand fully covering his as quiet words leave him. “You can— that is, those closest to me… call me Ben.”

“And am I?” Her fingers creep over the weight of his lapel, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath grow erratic. “Close to you, that is.”

His eyes widen. “I— what I mean is—”

“ _Ben_ ,” she breathes, strangely enjoying the visible tremor that passes through him. “I need your help.”

“Lady San—” He clears his throat. “ _Rey—_ I am— I can’t—”

“I know what I’m asking,” she presses. “I know that someone of your position has so much to lose— I wouldn’t ask this of you if I had any other choice.”

He hasn’t moved to escape her— but then again, he hasn’t moved at all. He’s so _still—_ as if unsure of what to do. As if he’s fighting himself. She takes advantage— moving those last few inches to press against him as her bodice grazes his sleeve, and the way he _tenses—_ she thinks perhaps he needs less convincing than she would have thought.

“I know that I am plain,” she murmurs, so close to him now that surely he can feel her breath against his jaw. “But perhaps you could—”

He _does_ move then— so quickly she isn’t even sure he  _meant to—_ but his hand rests against the sleeve at her shoulder and his grip is _warm_ and _tight_ and there is some _sensation_ in her belly she’s never felt before.

“Rey,” he says tightly, “you are… _enchanting.”_

Her breath catches— her mission and her plight forgotten for a moment, and suddenly it is only the nearness of him and the _warmth_ and all of the things she’s never felt and she can’t help the way she leans in.

When his lips meet hers— she is all too aware of how he doesn’t pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four days for me to get to smut what a brand


	4. My Dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is either really hot or really weird idk either way I’m going to hell.

It isn’t the wrongness of it that strikes him first.

It is how very _not wrong_ it feels— her tiny form pressed against him and her hand covering his and her _mouth—_ so warm and soft and _careful_ as it rests against his own.

Ben is not innocent to the pleasures of the flesh. In his youth he explored temptation and his urges as many of the other boys his age had. When he gave his life to the Lord he’d done away with such things. Had no need of it really— told himself that when the Lord willed it he would meet a godly woman and take her as his wife— but _this._

This feels as if it must surely be a sin— nothing that feels so good could possibly be anything but. So why does it feel so _right?_

She makes some quiet sound— barely a breath as it eases from between her lips but it ends in the softest of sighs and the way she _leans_ into him—

It’s enough to make him remember where they are.

His hands find her shoulders and even _they_ are soft under his hands— but he pushes her away. Even when every part of him screams that he pull her closer— he pushes her away.

“We shouldn’t,” he rasps— his voice betraying the way he really feels. “We _can’t_.”

Her eyes flutter open and she looks so _innocent_ like this— because she is, he realizes. No man has ever touched her. That alone is enough to make him consider tossing aside his principles.

He does his best to be strong.

“I’m sorry, Lady—”

Her fingers find his mouth to press, to _silence—_ and her eyes drift over his face to study. “This sin is mine, not yours. Surely God will not punish you for coming to my aid? Without you, I am lost.”

His eyes flick to the door. “We shouldn’t—”

“I dismissed my staff for the evening. I wanted to be alone. No one will enter this room unless I want them to.”

“The Lord will know— _I_ will know,” he mourns. “How can I live with myself knowing I had taken advantage of you like this?”

“I am offering this completely,” she urges. “You need only take it.” Her fingers brush along his jaw then— her hand moving to caress him there and he can’t help the way he pushes into the warmth of her palm. “I tried,” she whispers, “to do this myself. My fingers are so small— I couldn’t— couldn’t even—”

A strangled sound escapes him because now his mind is _full_ of such images and he just wants to be _good_ but she is so _close._

His thoughts jumble together like the thick cording of vines against a terrace. He is wont to separate them— to pick them apart and to make sense of it— but with her so near and so soft and _pleading_ him so—

He thinks to himself that he never stood a chance.

“Perhaps I could—” His fingers move to enclose around hers, his thumb moving idly across the back of her hand. “Perhaps there is another way.”

God help him— he is helpless to the hope shining from her eyes. “Another way?”

“Perhaps I could… aid you in the same way that you attempted.”

It takes only a moment— a wrinkle at her brow before it smooths into realization and _oh—_ the blush at her cheeks is as heavenly as it is hellish for what it does to him.

“You mean…”

Ben nods heavily. “I might could… take care of it. Without having to—”

“If that is— rather if you—” She takes a steadying breath. “So you’ll help me?”

“I can… try.”

“How do we…?”

“Just—” He eyes the soft gathering of her skirt— his hand nearly trembling as he reaches for the hem. “Just be still.”

It has been years— nearly a _decade_ — since he has touched a woman so intimately. Skirt meets chemise and with every slow inch that he pushes upward comes soft, pale skin that sets his heart pounding like a drum in his ears.

He glances up at her face, noticing parted mouth and flushed cheeks and it could _ruin_ a man— the way she looks right now. “Is this—?”

She nods softly. “Please.”

He lets her skirts bundle at the knee— too afraid to bare her completely because he is already half-lost to her— but her thighs part and he knows the most secret part of her is _right there._ He hesitates— breathing hard because there is no turning back after this and he can’t even believe he has come this far but he can’t _think_ with her so close and—

Her legs part just a little wider— her hips moving to bring him closer of her own accord and suddenly his fingers brush against soft curls that are so _damp_ and _warm_ and the _groan_ that escapes him is damning in its own right.

“You are—” He struggles to articulate what he’s feeling. “You want this? Are you sure, my lady?”

She inches closer— leaning to press her lips to his again in that soft manner as before and the _heat_ of her against his fingers and it’s been _so long—_

He feels the soft gasp that escapes her when his fingers part her folds— just a delicate intake of air as the flutter of her eyelashes brush against his cheek. She is _so wet_ with arousal and still it leaves him astounded. Is it because no one has ever touched her? Or is it simply him?

He fears the answer for a multitude of reasons.

“This could be uncomfortable,” he warns breathlessly. “Your fingers are so small and mine—”

“It’s all right,” she assures him. “Please. _Please,_ Ben.”

His name on her lips is more intimate than anything else occurring here, he thinks. It leaves him a shaking mess to hear it in her dulcet tone.

He slips his fingers to press where he knows he needs to be— feeling the give there as her entrance invites him in. When he lets his middle finger push inside— there is a flash of something forbidden— _so wet and warm and what he wouldn’t give to push into her small body—_ but he stamps it down because there is enough forbidden between them without all that.

She whimpers a little when he pushes deeper— her tight channel gripping his finger and the _heat_ of it is enough to drive him mad in its own right. He glances down at her skirt— seeing the way it bunches and moves above his hand and he cannot see the way he enters her but how he can _feel it_ and suddenly he is struck with a violent urge to tear the skirt from her body.

He feels his resolve slipping away with every inch of his finger he feeds into her.

When pelvis meets knuckles and there is nothing left to give her— he frowns at the lack of resistance. He grinds deep— desperately trying to ignore the muted whimpers that escape her or the way her teeth find the fabric at his shoulder because it _should_ be right _there._

He twists and turns and _stretches—_ but he fears that his efforts will prove not enough to rid her of her maidenhead. He adds another— even as she gasps in surprise. He wants so desperately for this to work— for him to keep the last bit of his righteousness— however thin it might be.

But she’s clinging to him now, and her body moves to press deeper into his hand and she is so _wet_ and it’s been so _impossibly long_ and he cannot suppress the urge that overtakes him. He turns his head— finding her mouth and reveling in the warmth of it. His tongue darts out to taste her, and the way she opens for him— he is reminded then that she is Heaven’s creation.

He could almost believe that salvation rests against her tongue.

He can’t even be sure if he’s focused on his mission now— with the way his finger moves in and out of her. He is more resolved to capture those soft sounds that escape her. To collect the tremors that pass through her tiny form or the steady rise and fall of her bosom.

He knows he should be the one to stop this.

“Lady— Lady San Tekka—”

“ _Rey_ ,” she breathes into his mouth. “Please. _Please_ call me Rey.”

“Rey.” The word rolls against his tongue like a prayer, and it feels as if it is one— with the way he beseeches her. For what he can’t be sure. Everything, perhaps. Everything that she is. “You are— I don’t think I can—”

“ _Please,”_ she begs, gripping at his lapel to pull him closer. “You have to— I _need you—”_

He hears the desperation now— the fear and the panic and _all_ of it— and something inside him screams at him to take it all away. To give _in._ He pulls away to look at her— taking in the wet at her lashes and the red of her mouth and just _her_ and he feels the last few pieces of his resolve crumble to dust.

He withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt— even as she’s pleading with _please, Ben, please—_ and he cups her jaw to kiss her softly because he doesn’t think there is any way he could possibly say no to her. Not like this.

“Shh,” he soothes, the endearment falling from his lips beyond his control. “I’m going to help you— but I am afraid it cannot be done this way.”

“You mean…?”

He nods solemnly. “If you’re sure.”

A sigh escapes her— soft and breathy and so _relieved_ and she’s nodding as she leans in to let her face nuzzle into his collar. “My chambers,” she whispers. “ _Thank you.”_

He isn’t sure he deserves her gratitude— for the way he feels he needs this as much as she. He is nothing more than a slave to temptation and to _her_ and there’s no going back now.

There never really was.

* * *

His fingers are trembling as he reaches for the ties that bind the front of her corset.

It rests over the pure-white of her chemise— her dress draped over an armchair and her hair loose against her shoulders. Her breath is short— and a quick glance at her face reveals she is just restless as he. Briefly he wonders if she would want this— if there were any other choice.

He finds the possibility of either likelihood only fills him with more unease.

Her hands rest against the muslin of his shirt— his waist and tailcoats lying in a pile on the floor and allowing the warmth of her hands to seep into his skin through the thin fabric.

“You’re shaking, little bird,” he whispers. “If you’re unsure—”

“It isn’t that.” She closes her eyes. Her lips purse. “No one has ever seen me so exposed. I fear that I— will be lacking somehow.”

He stills in his mission— having wrestled the ties apart to let the thicker fabric gap above her chemise. In the flickering lights of the candles at her vanity and bedside table— he can just make out the dusky peaks of her breasts from beneath, and his mouth feels arid and dry as he drinks her in. He swallows around his dry tongue, because she is _exquisite—_ and how could she possibly believe anything but? “You think you’re… lacking?”

She hangs her head in answer, and he reaches to let a finger rest beneath her chin, tilting her face to force her gaze to his.

He pushes the pieces of her corset over her shoulders, watching as they slide from her arms to fall to the floor. He tries to think of some way to tell her all that she _is,_ and when the thought strikes him— he can’t fight the smile that touches his lips. “Have you ever read from the Song of Solomon?”

The delicate line of her throat bobs with her swallow. “Yes.”

He reaches for the strings resting between her breasts that hold up her chemise. “ _Behold, thou art fair, my love; Behold, thou art fair_ —” The fabric loosens, and he moves to let his hands rest at either side of her face as his thumb brushes against her cheekbone. “ _—thou hast doves' eyes. Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant.”_

He leans in to kiss her then, reveling in the way she arches into it— knowing he shouldn’t be so eager to commit such a grievance against his Lord but unable to fight the flames that lick at his insides. Perhaps it is the promise of Hellfire he feels.

The fabric moves freely then when he rests his hands at her shoulders— pushing and sliding until it too flutters around her arms. With the way they are bent at the elbow, the gown catches there— clinging to the swells of her breasts that heave under his gaze.

“ _O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs—”_ He reaches for her hands to urge her arms to fall to her sides as her chemise slithers down her body to fall to the floor. “— _let me see thy countenance—”_ His fingers trail up her sides— enjoying the swell of her hip and the dips of her ribs. A gasp escapes her, and he wants to swallow the sound. “— _let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice—”_ His fingers trace the swell just beneath her breasts— his thumb brushing along the taut peak of a nipple. “— _and thy countenance is comely.”_

His hands find her waist finally, and when he gives a brief tug— she melts into him without pretense. He knows the error of his thoughts then— because surely her warmth is not of Hellfire— but of Heaven’s light.

He lets his eyes close as he leans in— his lips brushing along her jaw before settling over the plush softness of her own. “ _And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved—_ ” He lets his tongue trace the seam, and she opens with a soft sigh that steals his own breath. “— _that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.”_

His hand cradles her head, turning her face to deepen their kiss and it is him that sighs now— soft sounds that morph into groans because _nothing_ could ever be as sweet as she is.

He thinks perhaps every word from the Song of Solomon could have been written just for her.

“Of all God’s creations,” he murmurs against her lips, “never has there been a creature that has taken breath be lovelier than you are, right now.” He presses another chaste kiss at her mouth. “You lack nothing. You are _perfect.”_

 _“Ben,”_ she whimpers. “I feel so strange. It’s _frightening—_ what I feel.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, dipping to sweep an arm beneath her legs and pluck her to his chest. “I feel it too.”

He carries her to her bed— laying her over the covers before hooking his thumbs under his braces to let them fall to the side as he pulls his shirt over his head in one swift movement. Her eyes widen as she drinks in the sight of him, and the way she presses her thighs together— it’s enough to have the front of his trousers tight with the heavy press of his aching member that strains there.

Without the aid of his braces his trousers hang looser at his hips, and with only a quick reach to the ties behind— he is able to push the thick garment down his legs to leave him just as bare as she.

She looks almost frightened at the sight of his naked cock— and he reaches to cover his length with his hand as he crawls over her. “I must ask, my lady,” he murmurs. “Do you truly want this? If there is any doubt, any at all— we will cease this and it will be as it never happened. I assure you.”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I want this.”

He spares a glance down her lithe frame— drinking in the gentle swell of her belly and the dark thatch of neat curls between her legs and there is a _throbbing_ between his own that screams with his own want for this. For _her._

May God forgive him.

He lowers his head, tasting at the hardened peak of her breast and the way she _arches_ into his mouth— he does it again for good measure. “ _I sleep,_ ” he murmurs against the taut bud that is slick from his tongue as he settles between her thighs to let his cock press at her entrance, “ _but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying: Open to me, my sister—”_ He slips inside the warm wet that is her— the slickness of her insides like a hot vice in the way it grips hims. He finds his next words escape him through gritted teeth for she is as _lovely_ inside as out. “— _my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.”_

He feels it now— that last shred of what is surely _both_ of their purity— and he leans up to take in her face as he holds deathly still. “There may be pain,” he says tightly, feeling half-crazed with how _good_ she feels.

She nods slowly. “It’s all right. I trust you.”

He isn’t sure he deserves it— but the words thrum in his veins because he _wants_ her to, he realizes. In another life— he might want a great many things from her.

But if he only has tonight— he will savor each moment.

He reaches to smooth the hair from her face, pressing his lips to her forehead to linger. “ _Enchanting.”_

He surges forward before the word leaves his lips, and she tenses as there is clear discomfort on her face— but he presses a rain of kisses to her cheeks and lips and brow — offering words of solace as she adjusts.

Theoretically— they could stop this now. The deed she needed of him has been fulfilled— and perhaps if he were strong enough to do so he could retain a bit of his godliness that he so blatantly shirks aside today.

He doesn’t think he is that strong.

“It’s done,” he sighs. “We could stop this— there’s no need to— but you _feel so— Rey—”_

He hadn’t realized he’d shut his eyes until he feels the press of her mouth against his— feels the way her hips move and her legs wrap around him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “The pain is ebbing. I want this. I want to have this memory.”

_This memory._

A reminder that he is only a vessel of her salvation— that they will forever be from two different worlds.

“So do I,” he tells her truthfully. He wants to lock it away for the rest of his life. “I need to move now, Rey. Tell me that I can.”

He feels the light trace of her nose at his jaw as she nods her head. “ _Please.”_

She gasps as he withdraws— the warm wet of her gripping him with every inch of his retreat and when he pushes back inside— he is hard-pressed not to think of it as holy. So tight and slick and the _heat of her—_ he feels it seep into his body like a slow burning fire.

He buries his face in her hair— and her hands bury in his and she _clings_ to him and the _sounds_ she makes— he’s never felt _anything_ like this.

Not in his youth— not even in his _dreams—_ there has been no other experience in his life that captures him so much as this one. So much as _her._

“ _Rey,”_ he groans— any thoughts of proper and polite thrown to the winds, “you are— _perfect.”_

He is moving inside her now— feeling the way she stretches around him as if he is molding her to fit him. As if she is nothing more than a cast of his body that he creates himself. As if she is a _part_ of him.

God help him— he might give his soul to this woman if she’d let him.

 _“Ben—_ something— there is _something—_ I feel—”

“Give in to it,” he urges against her throat— letting his tongue flick out to taste her there and enjoying the breathy sound this elicits. “ _Let go.”_

His hips rolls against hers at a punishing rhythm now, and he knows he should be gentler— be _better—_ but she is soft and warm and so _responsive_ and he wishes to never leave this moment. To stay in a span of minutes where there is nothing _but_ this.

When she begins to tremble— her insides quivering around his thick length as she _claws_ at his shoulders— he isn’t sure who is more surprised. It makes her warmer— _tighter—_ his hips stuttering because she _grips him_ — and his groans are loud enough to fill the room.

He pulls her closer to sink into her warmth at a frantic and messy pace— chasing after her pleasure and when it takes him— when he goes rigid and his cock pulses deep inside— for a moment the world goes white.

For a moment he believes he can see Heaven itself.

He holds her close after because she doesn’t protest— because she _allows_ him to do so— and he fears the moment when he must say goodbye. There is no doubt in his mind he will never be able to see her in a casual manner without wanting this. Without wanting _her._

There is no place for any of it. Not with her stature— not with his faith.

Already he will answer for what they’ve done here— if not in this life but in the next— and he knows he will deal with his transgressions when the time comes. He thinks perhaps they will be well worth it.

His fingers trace her arm— his thoughts dwelling on the way she had thought she was anything less than a reflection of the Lord himself. How she thought she could be anything other than a perfect creation.

He wishes he could tell her every single day just how perfect she truly is.

It is only when he hears the soft sighs of her sleep— her tiny body molded against his and his arms holding her close— does he let his lips fall to her temple. To whisper words she cannot hear.

“ _Thou art all fair, my love… there is no spot in thee.”_

He is gone before morning— but he fears he has left a piece of himself behind— with _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get rekt regency we rated R now


	5. Be Strong

The early hours of morning bring the rays of the rising sun through her curtains, and with it— a sense of loss she hadn’t expected. Not for her virtue, but for the emptiness of her bed. She runs her fingers over the cool sheets on the side opposite of her— feeling a twinge of remorse for the lack of warm body there.

She wonders if he feels regret— if he feels _guilt—_ and just the thought of him conflicted because of her fills her with guilt of her own. She wonders if she’d met him in another life if this might have happened of its own accord. If by some chance of fate the night they’d shared could have have been less desperate— less _necessary._

It wounds her that she will never know.

She supposes that it is for the best that Ben— she thinks _Mr. Solo_ would be rather silly given the circumstances — had disappeared before morning came. Still, it does nothing to ease the strange hollowness that settles in her chest.

A slow stretch reveals sore muscles she never even knew existed— and there is a pleasant ache between her legs that brings forth a wave of memory with every movement. She expected the whole affair to be embarrassing— a necessity, really.

She couldn’t have known of the pleasure it offered.

She is not naive to what happens between a man and a woman— but in her mind it had been little more than a means to an end. Something that had to be done for children or marital purposes but _this._

When she closes her eyes she is struck with the memory of the hard lines of Ben’s body in the candlelight. She can almost feel him still — moving over her, _inside her—_ his skin and his breath warming her in a way that lingers with her.

Even now there is a fluttering in her belly that she is hard-pressed to ignore.

She wonders if now he will keep his distance from her. His disappearance into the night seems evident of that— and even if she understands— the sense of loss that clings to her is palpable.

A strange thing to be sure— as she barely knows Ben outside of kind smiles and this forbidden act that she will never forget.

She owes him everything.

She rises from her bed only to find a bit of scarlet at her bed linens— the physical evidence of what they’d done bringing a blush to her cheeks. She will need to see these sheets changed discreetly— something she may even need to take care of herself.

She is just donning her dressing gown when the knock sounds of her bedroom door, and when Rey bids entry Kaydel steps inside with a grim expression.

“My lady.”

Rey straightens her spine. “He’s here then?“

Kaydel nods. “He brought a physician— as well as a solicitor of his own.”

“I see.”

“Shall I help you dress?”

“I can manage,” Rey dismisses. She casts a glance to her bed— biting her lip before coming to a decision. “Actually… there is another favor I might ask of you.”

“Anything, my lady,” Kaydel assures.

“I would beg your discretion in this matter, Kaydel.”

Kaydel looks a bit confused, but gives a slow nod. “Of course, ma’am.”  

“Please dispose of my sheets and bring fresh ones,” Rey explains carefully. “I want them burned when the house is empty.”

“Burned, my lady?” Kaydel furrows her brow. “Surely I can launder whatever spill—”

“No,” Rey urges. “Please burn them.”

Kaydel’s mouth parts slightly— her eyes going wide and Rey senses that she knows just how important this is. Kaydel has always been good to her— and Rey hopes she is placing her trust in the right person.

Kaydel curtsies finally, giving a slow bow of her head. “Of course, ma’am. Consider it done.”

Rey returns her nod— moving to dress as Kaydel retreats from the room. With a deep breath she prepares herself for what’s to come. She’s told many lies these last few months— and by now she hardly feels a twinge of guilt as she prepares to lay down another. It’s almost as easy as breathing now.

She can only pray it’s worth it.

* * *

She finds them in her parlour room— Armitage seated smugly at an armchair near the window and grinning wickedly when Rey enters the room. Even the slight bow of his head is mocking— and Rey finds her nerves almost drowned in the rush of satisfaction she feels knowing he will leave here today empty-handed.

Two older gentleman are conversing amongst themselves in the center of the room, and the pair of them turn to greet her as she steps inside— offering a bow.

The taller of the two steps forward— giving a curt nod. “Lady San Tekka, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Galen Erso.”

Rey spots the black leather bag in his grip— eyeing it warily. “Are you a physician?”

“Indeed I am,” he clarifies. “My practice is in Chippenham.”

“Of course,” she replies quietly. “A pleasure to meet you. Considering.”

Dr. Erso frowns, casting a perturbed look towards Armitage and who she assumes is Armitage’s solicitor that is now leaning to speak with Armitage quietly.

Dr. Erso clears his throat. “Mr. Krennic— I believe there were documents you wished to discuss with Lady San Tekka?”

Armitage’s solicitor glances in their direction then, giving a smirk that immediately puts Rey on edge. “Ah, yes.” He straightens— smoothing his cravat and moving to the table where he’s left a stack of documents.

“I have here the order from the judge that rules in favor or Mr. Hux’s contesting of the legitimacy of Lady San Tekka’s marriage to the late Lord San Tekka. The grounds for this ruling comes from the evidence presented by Mr. Hux of the late lord’s declining health and of Lady San Tekka showing no signs of conceiving an heir after nearly five months of marriage.”

Rey swallows around the lump in her throat. She cannot believe Armitage had located a judge who would rule in his favor for such a despicable and outdated practice. She wonders briefly just how much he might have offered from his own pocket to see such a deed done.

“The outcome of such a decree,” Mr. Krennic continues, “will result in Dr. Erso performing an examination to determine the ah, _state_ of Lady San Tekka to either affirm or disprove these claims.”

“Although I feel it’s hardly necessary,” Armitage snorts.

“That will be quite enough,” Dr. Erso chides. “There is little need for any more unpleasantness in this dreadful affair.” Armitage looks angered by the Doctor’s chiding—but remains dutifully silent. Dr. Erso regards Rey kindly then. “My lady, it would be more comfortable for you for us to perform the examination in your chambers— with your lady’s maid present, of course.”

Rey nods solemnly— left feeling uneasy at the thought of this strange man touching her so intimately.

Odd, she thinks— when the thought of _another_ man she hardly knows touching her heats her blood and leaves her breathless. The thought makes her all the more wistful— all the more regretful that he’d left before morning.

But now is not the time for regret.

Now she must be strong.

She notices Armitage standing abruptly then. “Now see here— how am I to know the legitimacy of your findings if I am not—”

Dr. Erso gives Armitage a harsh glare, silencing him. “Under no circumstances will anyone else be allowed present for this examination other than myself, her lady, and her lady’s maid. I went along with this ghastly affair under the duress of your _judge—”_ Dr. Erso says this words with a fair bit of vitriol. “—but we will do it respectfully and appropriately. Which means you will remain here with Mr. Krennic, and I will inform you of the results as per mandated. Are we clear?”

Armitage’s mouth snaps shut— his eyes burning with disdain but remaining silent as he sinks back into the armchair. Dr. Erso gestures that Rey leave with him— and she steps out of the parlour where Kaydel waits on the other side.

“Thank you,” she tells him softly when they are well out of earshot of the room.

“You’re quite welcome,” he responds in kind. “I _am_ terribly sorry for this whole affair. I have a daughter your age, actually. I can’t imagine the level of indignity you are forced to suffer today.”

“I don’t hold you at fault,” she says truthfully. “You seem a good man.”

“One can only try,” he sighs. He gives her a sympathetic expression then as they climb the stairs. “I promise to be as quick as possible.”

She nods, believing him. For all of the awfulness that is today— she is grateful at least that she has been afforded this one kindness. That at least one person involved is decent.

 _Except there is one other,_ her thoughts whisper unbiddenly— but she quickly brushes it away. She wants to hold the memories of last night far away from this terrible affair.

Somewhere where she can keep them forever.

* * *

“That’s _impossible,”_ Armitage practically spits— face purpled with rage and eyes half-crazed. “You must be mistaken.”

Dr. Erso frowns— but there is a satisfaction in his eyes that Rey doesn’t miss. “I assure you I am not. The ah, _legitimacy_ of Lady San Tekka’s marriage is absolute.”

Armitage snarls in her direction— and she tries not to look smug. “ _You planned this.”_ He points an accusing digit in her direction. “Who did you bring to your bed, hm? One of the _staff?”_

Rey’s mouth falls open in shock— taking a step back as Armitage takes a menacing one towards her. He looks pushed to violence now— Rey having never seen anyone quite so _enraged_ in all her life.

His hand is outstretched in a way that says he might _actually_ strike her in his anger— and Rey flinches as she braces for the blow.

But it never comes.

Dr. Erso clutches Armitage by the wrist— looking at him as one might look at an insect that finds itself on the bottom of one’s shoe. “That will be _quite_ enough of that.”

“This is none of your concern,” Armitage sneers. “Your services are no longer required.”

“It seems _your_ business with the lady is concluded as well,” Dr. Erso presses. He looks to Armitage’s solicitor then. “I suggest you take your client in hand, Mr. Krennic— or else he will need your services for an entirely different matter.”

Mr. Krennic looks a bit lost— unsure of what to do as he struggles to come to a decision. He finally takes a step forward, placing a hand at Armitage’s shoulder. “It’s best we take our leave, Mr. Hux. It would seem our business is done here.”

Armitage’s gaze flashes angrily from Mr. Krennic to Dr. Erso and then finally to _her—_ lingering on her face for several moments as his jaw works and his eyes burn and it takes all Rey has to not let her fear show. Not to give him the satisfaction of it.

He finally wrenches his hand from Dr. Erso’s grasp— straightening as he smooths his cravat and waistcoat in an attempt to collect himself. He clears his throat— his eyes still fixed on Rey and it is _only_ in his eyes that she can still catch a glimpse of that white-hot rage that lurks beneath the surface.

“I suppose you’re right,” he tosses to Mr. Krennic. “Our business here is finished.”

He pushes past Dr. Erso with Mr. Krennic in tow— pausing just beside Rey to give her a look that is anything but pleasant. “Until we meet again, _my lady.”_

He leaves then, and it is only after the door closes behind him that Rey allows herself to breathe. The air rushes from her lungs in a rush of both relief and anxiety. Dr. Erso looks sympathetic to her plight— hands firmly behind his back but brow furrowed in worry.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

She does her best to nod evenly. “Yes,” she manages, and then a little stronger, “yes, I am.”

“You’ve endured much today, and for that I am truly sorry,” he tells her. “But if there is nothing else— at least the worst is over.”

His smile is kind, and Rey tries her very best to return it. Even if she fears it is anything but. She thinks of Armitage and his rage and his _relentlessness_ and no, she thinks. She thinks the worst is far from over.

“Thank you for your kindness today,” she offers, meaning it. “You made today perhaps a little more tolerable.”

He gives a short bow. “For that I am glad. Should you ever need a physician— do not hesitate to call on me.”

She nods. “Of course. I will keep that in mind.”

He gives one last bow before he leaves her, and finally Rey finds herself alone to her thoughts. So much has happened since the day prior, and the weight of it threatens to crush her. Rey has always prided herself in being resilient— in not allowing the harshness of life to claim her for its own. Today however, she finds the gravity of it all might prove too much for her alone.

She finds herself, for perhaps the first time, wishing she were not alone in this. Wishing that someone would offer her strength, _comfort,_ even— for someone to tell her that everything will be all right.

Strange that the only face that comes to mind is one that she might never have. It is almost laughable that by taking from Ben the ultimate kindness he could have bestowed, she might have also ruined any chance for anything more between them. For now there are secrets they keep, and in him she has surely instilled guilt. To be with her would forever be a reminder of his sin and how _she_ is the one who led him astray.

Better to let him forget, she thinks. Even if it breaks her heart. She will survive, as she always has.

_You are stronger than you know._

She hopes that’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, Hux is a creep. (Which is odd for me, as I usually like to write a nice Hux— but I suppose if he can’t be with Rose he has to be a creep.) But THERE WILL BE A RECKONING FOR THE GINGER WEASEL.


	6. Just You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the damned priestlo pine train

Ben closes the the weathered gate with a sigh.

He’s trying to preoccupy himself out and about town— seeking distraction in a visit to the sick mother of one of his congregation in hopes that throwing himself into his duty will push _her_ from his mind.

He’s had little luck so far, admittedly.

For though his thoughts should be here, _now—_ they are trapped in a few fleeting moments from _weeks_ ago.

With _her._

Ben has always thought time to be something of a fluid nature. Like water, perhaps. Flowing in a brook over pebbles and reeds. Never ceasing— always moving in one direction without a care for whom it passes over.

In the days since Ben has last seen Rey, however, time has been like something creeping— something sticky and slow. He feels every second pass like an itch he can’t reach.

_Five weeks._

He has felt _every_ moment of it.

When he closes his eyes, it is her skin and her eyes and her _sounds_ that greet him. It is her fingers in his hair and the warmth of being inside her and how it has _plagued_ him so.

Perhaps this is his punishment. To relive the moments he had with her over and _over_ with little hope of ever having her again.

For what hope is there?

It isn’t as if he can ask for her hand— a thought that has crossed his mind more than once in the days that have spanned since they parted. A man of the clergy marrying a dowager countess? Unheard of. He wonders if she would laugh at the suggestion.

Still, Rey doesn’t _seem_ the type to be consumed by power and titles. Not that it matters. He could never give the people of this parish another reason to whisper about her. She’s suffered quite enough.

He just wishes he could _see_ her. He looks out at his congregation during every service in search of her face— but to no avail. He wonders if it’s for the best.

He doesn’t think he can see her again without _wanting_ her again. He knows he should be above such primal urges— that he should find strength in prayer— but the only strength he seeks is that which might be offered in her arms.

He fears he is a ruined man.

He fears how _not_ ruined he feels.

He wonders if every week will pass this way. If at every service he will always be searching for her. He knows not to expect it, and yet… he _absolutely_ knows his eyes will search the pews and his congregation and he will feel that cold regret grip him because how can he _survive_ like this?

She’s stolen a part of him.

He doesn’t even want it back.

He wanders almost aimlessly along the cobbled path that will eventually return him to the rectory— his steps slow and without purpose. Much as he feels.

He might have almost missed the scene— with his eyes trained to the ground as they are. Might miss the flash of red hair or the slighter body that is crowded beneath it.

He spots them by chance— glancing up to find two figures he recognizes. For a moment his heart soars because _is she there?_ But it is quickly stamped out when he realizes that no— it is merely her lady’s maid. Although the woman in question is currently being held at the sleeve by a figure that makes his skin prickle and his chest tight.

He would recognize Rey’s _nephew_ anywhere— the knowledge that this scoundrel has put his hands on her burning inside him every moment he allows his thoughts to wander there. Her lady’s maid looks distraught, and it takes Ben only a moment to make the decision to assert himself in the center of the altercation.

“Ah, Mr Hux,” Ben interrupts. “Is that you?”

Mr. Hux’s eyes flash to Ben as he approaches— his brow still set in anger and his fingers still wrapped around the maid’s sleeve.

He straightens just a bit. “Apologies, have we met?”

Ben gives a slight bow of his head. “I don’t fault you for not remembering, sir. It was a dark day indeed.”

Recognition flashes in his eyes then. “Ah, the vicar. You facilitated my uncle’s funeral.”

“Yes, sir. I wasn’t aware you were still in town.”

His jaw hardens. “I have… business that I must still attend to.”

“Does that business include the Miss here?”

Mr. Hux seems to realize then that he is still gripping her arm slightly— and he promptly lets go. “I was merely beseeching Miss Connix for news on my dear aunt. I’m afraid I might have gotten a little desperate in my anxiousness. The poor dear has taken to refusing visitors. I worry, you see.”

Ben tries not to let his anger show on his face.

“That is terrible news. I imagine she is suffering a great deal in the aftermath of her loss.”

The only indication of Mr. Hux’s ire is the slight twitch at his jaw— the faint hardening of his eyes. “Quite. Now if you don’t mind—”

He moves to turn back to Miss Connix— but Ben clears his throat to interrupt. “Actually, I’m afraid I must insist to steal Miss Connix away. There is actually some very important business concerning the rectory that I desperately need her to pass along to her mistress. If you don’t mind, Mr. Hux.”

Ben’s face surely expresses that he will not be leaving here without Mr. Hux agreeing— and Mr. Hux seems to pick up on that. His barely contained scowl looks almost painful on his pinched face— but he finally gives a curt nod. “Of course.” He flicks his eyes to Miss Connix then. “We will speak again soon.”

Miss Connix looks frightened— not returning his nod as Mr. Hux stalks away.

When he is out of sight, she sighs in relief, giving Ben a look of gratitude. “Thank you, sir.”

“Am I correct then to assume that this was not a pleasant exchange?”

Miss Connix shakes her head. “No, sir. He has been quite fervent in his attempts to slight my mistress. Just now he—” She blushes before clearing her throat. “He has been quite fervent.”

“Perhaps it is unwise of you to wander about alone, Miss Connix.”

“Yes, sir,” she mutters. “Our housekeeper is nearby— I merely thought to shorten our outing by grabbing a few things from our list on my own.” She bites her lip then. “Begging your pardon, sir, but to be quite honest, I worry for my lady. I hate leaving her alone for very long.”

Ben’s breath catches a little. “Is she unwell?”

“Not in any way of her health, sir. Nothing like that. I fear she grieves still.”

Ben is confused by this— as Rey seemed much sterner when they last spoke of her late husband. “Well, I suppose that is to be expected.”

Miss Connix nods. “She hardly leaves her room, sir. When she does— she seems withered nearly. It breaks my heart to watch.”

Ben feels guilt creeping up in his insides— wondering if he is to blame on any account. “I am sad to hear of her struggle.”

“Perhaps you might pay her a visit, sir? It seemed that my lady respects you. She speaks of you highly.”

“She does?” He feels his heart flutter in his chest.

“Yes, sir. When she has mind to speak of you it is always of your kindness. Perhaps a comforting hand from the church would lift her spirits.”

He can’t help the conflicting feelings that rage inside him— his desire to see her warring with his resolve to not unsettle her further with his presence. But if she suffers…

“Perhaps I will,” Ben says finally. “Am I correct to assume she is at home?”

“Yes, sir,” Miss Connix assures. “She hardly leaves the manor.”

Ben nods. “Then perhaps I might extend a visit.”

“I’m sure my lady would appreciate that very much,” Miss Connix beams.

Ben bids her goodbye, hoping she’s right. He knows he is selfish— using his position amongst his parish to find any semblance of reason to see her. He knows that his presence might only cause her further melancholy. That seeing him might bring to mind all the things she’d been forced to do.

Ben wonders if in another life things might have been different.

Still, Ben finds he _is_ a selfish man. For the call to go to her is too great. Even more so when he is offered a perfect opportunity to do so. Almost as if it is divine intervention.

This is what he tells himself, at least.

It matters not why, really— for Ben is already feeling more hopeful than he has in weeks. Even if only fleeting— the prospect of seeing her face again, even if only for a moment— leaves him lighter than he’s been since… well. Since the last time he saw her.

He hopes it’s the right choice.

* * *

“I’m afraid we are not receiving visitors today.”

The voice sounds through the wood without even bothering to open it.

“Please, sir,” Ben calls. “I only wish to inquire after the lady of the house.”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but the lady does not wish to see anyone.”

“Sir, I only wish to see if she’s all right,” Ben urges. “If you could inform her that Mr. Solo has—”

He hears the lock turning as the door cracks— a lanky man with wide spectacles peering through. He takes a long look at Ben— finally opening the door fully and looking relieved.

“Mr. Solo,” he smiles. “Apologies. I thought you were… someone else.”

“Yes,” Ben acknowledges. “I’ve heard of your troubles as of late, Mr. Threepio.”

“Yes,” the butler sighs. “It has been a trying month to be sure.”

“How is the lady?”

“If I can be frank— she is of a dreadful sort, as of late. The poor dear seems to be taking the death of her husband quite hard.”

“I see,” Ben murmurs. “I wonder if I might call on her? I thought perhaps the church could offer some comfort in these trying times.”

“That is very kind of you, sir,” Mr. Threepio praises, ushering Ben inside the manor. He casts an arm towards the drawing room. “Please feel free to wait in there while I see if she is up for receiving visitors.”

Ben bows his head. “Of course. Thank you.”

Ben wanders into the drawing room— unable to sit for the flitting nerves inside him. Several moments pass before Mr. Threepio returns— looking disheartened.

“Terribly sorry, sir,” he sighs. “It seems my lady is not answering her door. I fear she is sleeping. She has been resting frequently of late. Perhaps it is the weariness of her grief that ails her.”

“Ah.” Ben hangs his head. “That is unfortunate.”

“My apologies,” he offers. “Perhaps you might want to return another time?”

“That might be prudent,” Ben answers dejectedly.

“Shall I show you out?”

A thought strikes him— and even as he _knows_ he should dismiss it, he feels it take root. “Actually, I— I might wait for a short spell. If that would be all right. I am free for the afternoon. Perhaps she will wake soon.”

Mr. Threepio gives a short bow. “Of course, sir. You are welcome to do so. I have chores to attend to— but should you need anything, do not hesitate to come and find me.”

“I will do that. Thank you.”

Mr. Threepio offers one last bow before turning and leaving the room, leaving Ben to his own devices. He allows several moments for Mr. Threepio to wander away— wrestling with the decision he’s just come to and knowing it is a terrible one. His skin simply feels tight with frenetic energy— so desperate to see her. To know that she’s all right.

It makes him bold.

He waits a short spell to be sure Mr. Threepio has retreated to another part of the manor— slipping quietly from the drawing room into the main hall. He remembers where her chambers are— and it is as simple as discreetly climbing the stairs to surreptitiously press down the upstairs hall that brings him outside her door.

He wonders if she’ll be angry— that he’s here. That he’s overstepping. He knows he should turn and go, but these weeks without seeing her have been utter _torture_ and he just needs to know that she’s all right. That she isn’t struck with guilt for what they’ve shared.

He just wants to take away whatever distress has caused her to withdraw as Miss Connix so suggested.

He knocks softly, and then a little louder when there is no answer— but it is to no avail. The door remains silent, and he wonders then if perhaps she _does_ sleep. The anxiousness that courses through him roils in his belly— and he wrings his hands in an unsettled nature as he fidgets outside her door.

_You’ve come this far._

Surely after all that’s passed between them, _this_ is the least of his worries.

He turns the handle— relieved to find it unlocked, and he pushes through the door to peer inside. There is a noticeable lump under her linens— and by the light that peeks around her closed curtains he can just make out the soft waves of her chestnut hair as it lays against her pillow.

He finds it strange that she would be sleeping so late in the afternoon— and he worries then that perhaps she truly is ill. He knows he should go— should leave her be now that he’s seen with his own eyes that she’s all right— but the urge to be near her is too strong.

He takes a cautious step towards her bed instead.

Her mouth is parted in sleep— the tufts of her hair that cling to her lips fluttering lightly with each breath. He reaches to brush it away— noticing just how much _younger_ she seems in sleep. How frail.

It only makes the desire to protect her rage harder.

He doesn’t know how much time he has here— and looming over her in such a manner makes him feel rather like a cur. With that in mind, he rests his palm against her shoulder— shaking her gently in hopes to rouse her.

She wakes slow— eyelashes fluttering and limbs stretching and for a moment she doesn’t register that he’s there. Then her eyes focus— going wide as she takes him in— and she shoots up in bed in surprise.

“Ben?”

“Apologies,” he soothes. “I know I shouldn’t be here.”

She’s still looking at him as if she doesn’t quite believe he’s _actually_ there. “How did you…?”

He reaches to toy with the white cloth at his collar— feeling sheepish. “With a bit of subterfuge I must admit. I merely wanted— no. I _needed_ to know that you were all right. I stumbled upon your lady’s maid in town being near accosted by your wretched nephew—”

She scowls as she moves to straighten— swinging her legs over the bed to sit properly. “He has been lurking about for weeks. My staff continues to steer him away, but I fear his resolve will win out in the end. He will stop at _nothing_ to get his hands on the rest of the late lord’s prospects.”

“He hasn’t— you’re _all right_ — aren’t you?”

She nods slowly. “I manage as best I can. It’s very tiring. I feel as if I’m a prisoner in my own home.” She takes a deep breath— her brow furrowing in thought. “Then there is the matter of this dreadful ailment I cannot seem to shake.”

“You are ill?”

“It is little more than a fever that continues to plague me. It leaves me so very tired. I find myself needing to rest at least once a day this past week. Perhaps it is the changing of the season that has vexed me.”

“I must admit I am a touch relieved,” he sighs. “Miss Connix seemed to be of the mind that you were morose. That you were staving off a bout of melancholy.”

“Ah,” she says quietly. “I suppose there is that too.”

“Is it— is it your late husband?”

She laughs bitterly. “Is that what you think?”

“My lady, I—”

“So I am reduced to _my lady_ again, am I?”

He feels at a loss. “Are you— are you _angry_ with me?”

She stares after him for several seconds— finally shaking her head as she casts her eyes to the floor. “No. No, Ben. I am not angry with you. I suppose I am angry with myself.”

“Whatever for?”

Her lips curl in a smile— but there is no joy in it. “For wanting things I cannot have.”

There is a resounding _thump_ in his chest that sounds beat after beat as his heart pounds against his ribs. He dares not hope— that perhaps she has been as plagued as he. But she is looking at him now, and there is _something_ in her eyes and perhaps— perhaps she—

“I’m afraid I am left in the dark to your meaning. If you could perhaps shed a little light—”

“I think you know,” she whispers. “You _have_ to know.”

“Do I?” His fingers clench into a fist as he struggles with the urge to reach out. To touch her. “I fear I have known little in these weeks since we last spoke. I find myself plagued with the memories of what happened in this very room.”

She sucks in a breath— eyes wide and mouth parted as she studies his expression. “Plagued?”

“ _Haunted,”_ he clarifies. “For when I close my eyes it is _you_ I am greeted with. I feel as if I am bewitched.”

She hangs her head. “Then you feel guilt.”

He does reach out then— brushing his fingers beneath her chin and tilting her face to meet his gaze. “The only guilt I feel is for how _little_ guilt I feel. I have no room for it.” His thumb trails along her jaw lovingly. “Not when I am so consumed by you.”

“Then do you not regret it?”

“Regret it?” He closes his eyes— shaking his head slowly. “I have thought of _nothing_ else since we parted.  Nothing but you.”

“But you— you never came back.”

“I was a fool,” he huffs. “I thought it was kindness I was affording you. I told myself I was making things easier for you. Had I known my actions would cause you pain…”

“How could you believe that disappearing was a kindness?”

“Rey, I— I never believed that you— that you could _ever—”_ He tears his hand away from her face to curl it into a fist with frustration. “Look at you, Rey. Look at _me._ How could I ever believe that you might want more from me than only the salvation I offered you? We are from two different worlds, you and I.”

She huffs out a breath. “That falsehood is one that resides only in your own mind. I am more than my title. I hardly even _want_ it. I certainly never _asked_ for it.”

Her eyes are pleading as she reaches for his hand— pulling it between her own, and he can only stare at where they are joined— feeling those flickering sparks of hope fizzle inside him.

There are so many reasons to discontinue this. To leave this house and never return. To forget everything that has occurred between them and live as if it never happened at all.

But he’s here now— in the only place he’s wanted to be since the moment he left her— and God help him, but his strength fails him when matched against her. Ben has always thought himself strong, but Rey— she makes him weak.

It’s her eyes and her mouth and the soft way she whispers his name— it’s all of the things he’s learning he cannot live without.

He squeezes her hand— rubbing his thumb along the back as he holds her gaze. “Tell me, Rey. Tell me what it is you think you cannot have. Tell me what is is you _want_. Whatever you desire that is within my power to give is yours.”

She shakes her head lightly— eyes crinkling with her smile and the way she _looks_ at him. As if the answer is a simple thing.

“ _Ben,”_ she whispers. “It’s you. Just you.”

He feels his heart swell— knowing he has no right to have her. Nothing to offer her— but everything to give. It can’t work. The two of them. There is his faith and her title and his parish and her _nephew_ and so _many_ things that would stand in their way.

He doesn’t care about any of it.

He only cares about her.

He reaches to cup her nape— pulling her to him hungrily to brush her mouth against his, and when he feels the first soft touch of her lips against his— it’s as if he is breathing for the first time in weeks. As if there has been a noose around his neck— stealing his air and it is _her_ that loosens it. That offers him breath.

When she sighs into his mouth— Ben thinks to himself that it is as if breathing for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should have been smut here but Ben wouldn’t shut up about his feelings. Next time. 🙃


	7. A Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _James 3:5 Even so the tongue is a little member and boasts great things. See how great a forest a little fire kindles!_ 👀

There had been so little time for this— the last time they’d been together.

The entire affair had felt saturated with an air of desperation and _necessity_ and she hadn’t the time to explore him as she might have liked. To learn his mouth and his touch and all the things he might offer her.

His lips move against her now— plush and warm and _consuming_ in the way they capture hers. He behaves as a man starved— as if she offers not only pleasure but _life._ It is dizzying in its headiness.

“Forgive me,” he murmurs breathlessly. “It seems my mouth has run away with me.”

She shakes her head— reaching to press her fingers lightly against his lower lip. “Do not apologize. I must admit I—” Her eyes flick to his to find them dark and searching, and she takes a steadying breath. “I fear I’ve had the most sinful of thoughts in regards to your mouth.”

He inhales sharply— Rey feeling the pull of air around her finger tips— and then his hand is enclosing over her wrist as he deliberately presses a kiss to the pads of her fingers. His voice comes out low— a pitch that reverberates in her very bones— and when he opens his eyes, she finds them hungry and something altogether different.

“Is that a confession, little bird?”

She can’t suppress the shiver that passes through her. Something about his endearment feels both forbidden and _breathtaking._ “It is.”

There is a deep hum in his chest as he moves to trail his lips over her wrist— a chaste press of his mouth against the delicate skin there as his eyes close once more. “Then I feel that I must confess something as well—” The softness of his mouth brushes along the slim curve of her arm— moving over the bend at her elbow as he burns a path higher. “— for I fear I have had the most sinful of thoughts for what I wish to do to you with my mouth.”

Her breath catches— his lips finding the bare patch of skin that sprouts from her sleeve just above her shoulder. “What thoughts might those be?”

“To taste every inch of you.” There is a warm wet of his tongue as it presses to her throat. “To imprint every curve of your skin against my lips.” He leaves a heavy kiss at her jaw. “To consume every part of you—” She feels his fingers at her nape as he turns her face to his. “—and to keep them for myself.”

His thumb brushes along her lip— his eyes following the path he paints there reverently. “So lovely,” he murmurs. “This mouth has haunted my sleep and my waking hours and every moment in between.”

“I fear you are too generous in your praise.”

“ _Rey_ ,” he sighs. “There is no lie in it.” He studies her mouth for several moments before speaking again. “Corinthians says: _Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own?”_

It is surely sacrilege— the way his soft voice as he utters the word of God in reverence to _her_ warms her blood.

But he isn’t done.

“If your body is a temple,” he continues, leaning in until she can feel the warmth of his breath and the flutter of his lashes against her cheek. “Then your mouth is the altar in which I offer worship. Where I might find absolution in all things.”

“ _Ben._ ”

He captures the word with his own mouth— his tongue sweeping inside to move over hers and it is _intoxicating_ in its warmth. Her eyes close of their own accord— soft sounds escaping her beyond her control and Ben’s hands— his _hands._

They wander down her arms and her waist and her _breasts—_  no corset to hinder his touch in the aftermath of her sleep and his palm _burns_ as it rests there.

He breaks from her mouth only to seek the taste of her skin elsewhere— his lips moving over her jaw and down her throat as his fingers work at the strings that hold up her shift. Her wanton body arches of its own accord as his mouth trails over her collarbone to continue on between her breasts— and when he finally frees her of the thin garment— she can’t help the way she _gasps_ as his lips enclose over one hardened peak of her nipple.

The heat of his mouth threatens to pierce her very soul— branding her skin in a way that stakes a claim on her. She can’t find it in her to mind. She knows she would offer willingly anything he asked of her.

“Have thought of nothing,” he rasps brokenly. “Nothing but this— of _you.”_

She feels as if she is on _fire._ It is almost too much to take. “Ben, I—”

“It’s not enough,” he grates against her skin. “God, forgive me— I need _more.”_

She feels his hands reaching between them— tugging at his cravat to rid himself of it as he tosses it to the floor. His waistcoat follows after— leaving him in nothing but the airy linen shirt beneath held down by the stark black bracers that connect to his trousers. A patch of pale skin shines out from his collar— and she understands his urges then— struck with those of her own to taste him there.

It takes her by surprise— but Ben does not afford her the time to dwell on it.

His hands rest at her knees as he fists the fabric of her skirt— bunching it in his hands as he begins to inch it higher. She feels a prickling of her skin— something like burning anticipation as his fingers brush along her legs and her thighs and _higher_ still.

She feels the vibration of his voice along her skin and it is _heavenly._ “Do you trust me?”

She manages a nod— but it is far more difficult than it should be. “I do.”

“Lie back.”

She is confused at first— his hands finding her shoulders to ease her along the bed— and even more so when he sinks to the floor.

“Ben, what are you—”

“ _Shh.”_ His large palms press between her thighs to urge them apart— sliding along the insides as he spreads her wide. “There is so much I missed the last time,” he mutters softly, as if to himself. “I want all of you.”

She feels exposed like this— her skirt bunched around her waist and _so bare_ to his gaze and when she feels the press of his fingers at her most sensitive flesh— she actually cries out in surprise.

She bites her lip to stifle it— feeling a flushed embarrassment flood her chest. “ _Ben_. You don’t have to—”

He suddenly pushes a finger inside her— effectively silencing her. “You’re lovely here, too.” Her eyes shut as he gently eases it in and out of her. “So soft and warm.”

“Ben— that feels—”

His voice is softer now— and yet so tightly wound it sounds as if on the verge of breaking. “Do you trust me?”

“ _Yes.”_

The word barely leaves her lips before his intent is made clear— precursored by the warmth of his breath and then there is only a searing wetness against her sex and she jolts in surprise.

_His tongue._

Never has she— never even _entertained_ such a lewd possibility— and her first instinct is to move away. Surely this isn’t acceptable— nothing that feels so wonderful possibly can be. Instead she melts into it— eyes closing and back arching as the weight of his wide palms settle at her hips to pull her closer.

_“Ben.”_

If she turns her head, she can just make out the inky locks of his hair as his head dips against her— his tongue moving through her folds to _taste_ and _spear_ and she is surely iniquitous for the way she takes such pleasure in what he’s doing to her.

There are sounds that escape him— sharp groans and heavy sighs and she _feels_ each one against her heated core. Her breath catches when his tongue passes over some part of her that ignites what feels like an array of sparks inside her— everything suddenly more intense— nearly _unbearable._

Ben doesn’t fail to notice.

He is relentless then— his lips and tongue lapping at her in a way that leaves her chest tight and her belly more so because she is so _tense_ with the pleasure of it— feeling as a string that has been too tightly wound.

Something builds inside her— something wonderful, _terrifying—_ filling her up like a fizzing warmth that she can feel down to her toes. When it overflows— when the burning becomes so white-hot that it pours out of every facet of her— Rey feels as if she might come apart.

Her fingers find his hair and she might be _mortified_ with the way she tugs there— pulling him away, pulling him _closer—_ entirely unsure as to what she needs in that moment as the world goes white.

She barely even registers the moment when he simply isn’t there anymore— too heavy with hazy bliss that she doesn’t take notice until he is crawling over her to settle his weight there.

His kiss is slow now— testing and soothing and _careful—_ almost as if he knows just how much she has splintered into a thousand pieces from the enormity of what he’s done to her. Almost as if he knows only he can put her back together.

He continues to brush his lips against her skin— moving over her jaw, down her throat, finding their way back to her mouth once more— almost as if he can’t help himself. She feels the hard length of him against her thigh— and the warmth in her belly is _wicked_ in the way she yearns for it.

“Don’t leave,” she pleads softly, her voice betraying the twinge of desperation that suddenly sparks inside her.

His lips cease their mission— pressing up to look at her. “Were it left to me I never would.”

She smiles— feeling a fullness in her chest that she’s never felt before. When he covers her with his body— she thinks to herself that were it left to _her—_ he never would either.

* * *

“My lady?”

Rey pulls her gaze from the window at her drawing room— tearing her eyes away from the slow patter of rain against the roses below to focus on Kaydel.

“Yes?”

“I have your lunch in the dining room, ma’am.”

“Kaydel…”

Kaydel grimaces. “I’m terribly sorry. I have your lunch… Rey.”

Rey smiles back at her. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Begging your pardon— but it weren’t very easy either.”

Rey can’t help but laugh. “Thank you for indulging me.”

She rises from the settee— smoothing the skirt of her day dress as she follows after Kaydel to the dining room. The house feels different now— no longer something cold and _far too big._ There is a warmth here now.

Or perhaps it’s just her.

It’s only been two days since she’d helped Ben quietly leave the house during the early hours of morning before the servants woke— but it feels like far longer.

They talked of so many things by the light of only a candle and in nothing but their own skin as he held her in his arms.

She’s thought of nothing else since they parted.

Neither of them know just quite to do about their feelings— knowing Armitage will never stand for her marrying someone who as far as society is concerned is _lower class._ Knows that as long as Armitage breathes, it is only her title that protects her from him using every means necessary to strip her of everything Lord San Tekka left behind to ensure her comfort.

Not that _Rey_ believes Ben to be _lesser._

She thinks him to be _everything,_ in fact.

But the world is not often privy to the desires of the heart— and so for now, they are forced to lock their feelings away from the public eye. Rey wonders if they will be forced to forever.

She is so happy to be afforded even a _part_ of him— but she finds she wants the whole thing.

She chews thoughtfully as she settles into her meal— letting her thoughts wander to a good number of possibilities as they often do in the recent days past. Letting them wander to when she might see Ben again. Letting them wander to when she saw him _last_.

Even now a warmth floods her belly pleasantly as she remembers his low voice and his warm skin and _everything_ else.

But after a time, that warmth turns sour.

She slows her chewing— feeling some tumultuous sensation in her belly— and then comes a watering of her mouth and a faintness in her head and the room _spins_ a little. She scrambles from her chair— seeking something, _anything—_ rushing from the room into the nearest bedroom and grabbing for a clean chamber pot as she empties the contents of her stomach there.

It is several seconds before the nausea subsides— and only when her stomach is seemingly empty is she afforded relief.

Kaydel bursts in after her— a soothing hand falling to Rey’s back as she quickly— inquiring if she is ill.

Rey shakes her head. “I felt just fine earlier— I cannot fathom as to what might be ailing me so very suddenly— perhaps I—”

Rey’s words die on her tongue.

Her blood rushes in her ears as a wave of dread passes over her— followed by a short rush of elation that quickly perishes in the torrent of flooding anxiousness.

She quickly calculates— ticking off the number of days in her mind from the last time— the last time she—

Rey feels as if she might faint.

She presses her hand against her stomach as she moves to stand— hoping the motion might be construed as one of self-soothing for a natural ailment. She quietly assures Kaydel that she is all right— taking the opportunity to escape to her bedroom under the guise of resting and only breathing when she is safely locked away behind her door.

She lets her fingers brush along her belly— feeling a slight awe even as a crushing weight of worry settles on her shoulders. How could she have been so _careless?_

Of course she had known— that this— that they could—

But she has had so little guidance in this— so little time to _think_ outside of the whirlwind that is her and Ben and her late husband and _Armitage_ and she—

She supposes the why doesn’t matter now.

For there is nothing to be done for it.

Ben had planned to visit again two days hence— but she fears she cannot wait that long.

They have larger problems now.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a pre- _dick_ -ament


	8. A Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just make this the porniest regency ever. Lord, help us.

Deep down Ben is fully aware of the guilt he should bear— of the penance he should pay.

But when he thinks of Rey’s eyes or her mouth or the quiet way she says his name in the dark— he feels nothing but a burning elation that floods his very veins.

Even in the heightened loft of his pulpit— facing the sea of faces of his congregation— he feels not even the slightest twinge of guilt. He wonders if perhaps he was never meant for this life. Wonders if he was ever meant for the pious existence.

Or rather if he was never meant to go about it alone.

He gathers his thoughts to the task at hand— to his stack of notes in front of him as he does his best to keep focused on the sermon he’s prepared.

To say it has been inspired by _her_ is understatement.

He turns the page— reading the verses he’s jot down.

“And from the book of Genesis: _And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall on Adam, and he slept; and He took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh in its place. Then the rib which the Lord God had taken from man He made into a woman, and He brought her to the man._

_And Adam said:_

_“This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; She shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.”_

He feels a swelling in his chest as he continues on to state the benefits of companionship— of walking through life with a partner as God intended.

It only makes him yearn for her more.

He turns to the left section— addressing the parishioners there and stumbling when he spots none other then _her_ amongst the worshipers. He falters over his next word— a silence lingering in the air for several seconds before he can collect himself.

He clears his throat to continue— but for the remainder of the sermon his mind is fixed on her. He wonders if she is aware just how much she had been in his thoughts when he’d written this sermon.

He finds he rather hopes so.

* * *

It takes everything in him— not to run to her after. To stand at the doors of the rectory and bid his parishioners a good afternoon.

He spots her lingering in the sanctuary as the crowd files out— only approaching when the other worshipers have dwindled and they are free of wandering eyes.

“My lady,” he greets softly. “It is good to see you at service.”

She watches as he gives a slight bow— eyes warm and lingering on the Geneva bands at the collar of his cassock. “It was a pleasant sermon you gave, Mr. Solo.”

“I felt rather inspired this past week,” he murmurs.

He enjoys the slight flush at her cheeks. “Then we are the same. I myself have found cause for inspiration as of late.”

“We would but rejoice for such a blessing.”

Her smile is small— but its warmth radiates through him still— much as her presence does of its own accord. “I find myself wondering if I might obtain an audience with you,” she presses politely. “I fear there is a matter of business that I must implore you to oversee.”

His brow furrows— eyes darting around to ensure that the other church-goers have continued on to leave them out of earshot. He leans in just a fraction. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m not sure,” she tells him warily. “That is why I must speak to you.”

He pulls away— casting one last glance at their surroundings before boldly reaching for her hand for only a second to give a reassuring squeeze. “Wait for me in my study. I’ll join you shortly.”

He watches her go— feeling a mixture of nerves that wars with that same peace she instills in him. It’s enough to leave him an addled mess.

He strolls out onto the grass to bid farewell the last few lingering worshipers— his mind fixed firmly on his study. Firmly on the person who waits for him there.

Wondering what it is she needs to tell him.

* * *

It is several minutes later that he is finally free of his obligation— hurrying to the inner workings of the rectory to chase after where she waits for him. He pushes through his study door with perhaps more force than necessary— finding her pacing the length of the room. She’s drawn the curtains— the room dimmer than normal, and yet still he can make out her anxious expression easily.

He quickly hangs his cassock and bands over the rack just inside— locking the door behind them and opening his arms to receive her. His hands find the crown of her head to pat her hair— her face buried in fabric of his vest as her body is tight with worry.

He wonders how he missed the gravity of her worry before— wondering how she’d hidden it so well.

“Rey,” he murmurs against her hair. “What ails you so?”

She takes a deep breath— turning up her face to catch his gaze with a furrowed brow and downturned mouth. “I fear I have been careless.”

“Has something happened? Has Armitage—”

She shakes her head. “It isn’t my nephew.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s _us.”_

He feels cold dread up his spine. Has she had second thoughts about this? About _them?_ Such a change of heart would be fitting in the eyes of their Lord, but Ben finds even with the righteousness of it all, he simply couldn’t bear it. Not now. Not now that he’s had her.

“Rey,” he chokes, “have you decided against this? I only ask that you might reconsider— for I cannot—”

She buries her face deeper into his vest. “ _No,_ Ben. Of course not. I would sooner rid myself of mine own hand than part from you.” He feels himself breathing just a bit easier— and she turns up her face once more with tear-stained eyes. She reaches for his hand— stepping back to leave the barest of space between them as she places that same hand over her belly. His eyes widen— flying between the spot and her face. “Especially not now.”

“You mean to say—?”

She nods. “I have been so careless.   _Ben—_ I am riddled with guilt for having been so. For what this could do to you should anyone find out— you have my deepest apologies.”

He’s still stumbling over the idea that she might _apologize_ for this— still half in a daze that there is _life_ inside her that is born of her and him. That he will be a _father._

He gathers his wits— sinking to his knees to wrap his arms around her waist— his lips brushing over her belly as he smiles into the cloth. “Save your apologies, Rey. I have no use for them. If anything, it is _I_ who should apologize to _you_. I was so lost in my feelings for you I hadn’t considered caution or reason. I am as much to blame.”

Her fingers card tentatively through his hair. “Then you are not angry?”

“ _Angry_?” He pulls her a little closer. “You have given me a gift. A _child_ , Rey. Yours and mine. How could I ever be angry?”

“But what will we _do,_ Ben?”

He looks up at her, moving to stand as he reaches for her jaw to cradle her face. “Whatever we have to. Whatever we _must_. Nothing matters now but you—” He reaches to place his hand over her middle— rubbing his thumb idly. “—and _them.”_

Her mouth parts as her eyes shine and she’s so _lovely_ like this. “You are truly happy?”

He is _terrified_ — but it is far outweighed by an overwhelming joy he can’t explain. He leans in to let his mouth hover over hers. “Than I have ever been.”

She leans into his kiss blissfully— with a soft sigh and a warm press of her lips and she is _perfect_ like this. She is _his._

He will find a way to make it so. _Truly_ so. In every way. No matter what it takes. For this child _will_ bear his name. He cannot stand for it to be otherwise.

She tugs at his waistcoat— pulling him closer as she opens sweetly for him— his tongue swiping across her lower lip and pressing deeper as she sighs into his mouth. He feels so _full_ in this moment— unable to let the repressed bit of anxious energy take root because there is a _part_ of him growing inside her and his happiness is the only thing he allows himself to feel now.

There will be time for worry later— now there is only her.

He molds her against him with little more effort than a heavy press of his hand against her back— her tiny form curving into his easily even as her fingers tighten at his coat.

“Rey, I—” His hands at her waist grip and _knead_ in the way they pull at her. “Apologies, I—”

She boldly lets a hand trail down the length of his vest— brushing lightly over the front of his trousers where he has grown hard for her beyond his control. “Don’t apologize— you are not alone.”

He nearly groans at the idea that she would be as needful of him as he is for her— but instead he only urges her to turn— to press her back to his front as he pushes her against his desk.

His lips pass over the smooth skin of her shoulder— burning a path up her throat. “I need you.”

“Then _take_ me,” she breathes.

He does groan then— her boldness stirring him even when he knows he should resist.

But resisting is the furthest thing from his mind.

They are far past that.

It takes hardly anything at all— to tug up the soft material of her skirt and chemise. To bare the rounded curve of her bottom as he lets a palm smooth over the soft skin there. She makes some soft sound as he touches her— and it is the closest to Heaven that he’s ever felt.

Surely this— surely _she_ cannot be born of sin. She is too good, too _pure,_ too _lovely;_ he refuses to entertain any alternative.

With only a quick unclasping of his braces and a sharp tug of his shirt from his trousers, he finds himself ready— his cock ever needful of her soft warmth and now knowing that his seed has taken root inside her— he fears he’s never needed anything more. He is _overwhelmed_ by the enormity of it.

She looks so sweet as he gently urges her to lean over his desk, as he dips his hips to nudge at her entrance— even as her eyes flutter closed as he pushes inside— so _sweet_.

For the handful of times he’s had her, he finds her body seems to welcome him now— still so tight and _wet_ and yet lacking in that resistance of a virgin’s sheath as if she is now made to fit him. Made only for him.

It’s near _intoxicating._

He can see everything like this— so much more than what is afforded to his sight by candlelight. He can see the slick pink of her body as he enters her— gripping and slicking his cock as he strokes in and out of her.

“ _Ben,”_ she all but whines.

“ _Shh,”_ he urges. “I know, little bird. I _know.”_

He closes his own eyes as he pushes into her at a faster pace— rough enough that her tiny body slides up the wooden surface and he has to hold her waist to still her. To pull her back against him as his hips make a lewd sound against hers.

He thinks to himself that he will never allow anyone to take her from him.

Not even God himself.

No matter what it costs him— he will keep her. He will keep them _both._

He feels a tumultuous pressure building— helpless to fight it as he grits his teeth and reaches for her shoulder to arch her back. To pull her tighter back against him.

There is a heat at his collar— wishing he could rid himself of his cravat and waistcoat but knowing they must be quick. Knowing there will be time to enjoy her fully later.

He sees the way her fists clench as they grip at his desk— sees the way her neck arches back and her mouth opens in a silent cry and then she is _so tight_ as she quivers around him and it’s just enough— just enough to send him over the edge.

He grips her tight as he holds inside her— bending to let his mouth fall wherever he can reach as he fills her. As he marks her as his own. It is deeply satisfying to know that he has claimed her in all the ways that matter— that it is _his_ child growing inside her.

It is enough to make him half-wild with possessiveness. Something he’s never truly experienced before. Not until her.

She turns her head— kissing him sweetly as he finally allows himself to pull free of her— the knowledge that she will be full of him longer after she leaves here leaving him a prideful rake instead of the man of God he knows himself to be.

He can’t even find it in him to be penitent.

For when she turns to lean into him— to press up on her toes to capture his mouth in that sweet way of hers— there is room for little else.

He speaks without thinking— his emotions taking root and ridding him of any restraint. “Run away with me.”

She pulls away, looking confused. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am. Your nephew would never allow me to marry you if we remain here. Would see it only as further insult that you would shirk your title to marry beneath your station while you live in the house he sees as rightfully his.”

She still looks half-dazed, and he worries then that perhaps this is not what she wanted. To shackle herself to a clergyman. But then she opens her mouth, and he feels his heart swell. “You want to marry me.”

He can't help the way he grins widely. “More than anything. I want our child to bear _my_ name— no one else’s.”

Her eyes cloud with tears— and he has to reach to wipe them away. “I want that as well,” she whispers thickly. “More than you know.”

“I have an idea,” he murmurs, leaning to kiss her again. “I told you that you have bewitched me, and that is still true. With every day that passes— I only find new ways to love you.”

He hears her breath catch— her teeth finding purchase against her lip. “You love me?”

He cups her nape pull her close— letting his forehead rest against hers. “Most ardently.”

“And I you,” she half-sobs. “I will go anywhere. _Anywhere_ we must. I have no need of empty titles or massive manors. I have only need of you. Just _you_.”

“I will meet you tonight,” he instructs quietly. “After the sun has long set and the servants retired. We will take your carriage. I have friends in London. I was offered a living there before deciding to return to my birthplace— perhaps it will still be available.”

“My husband kept a safe in his study— one that only I now have access to. I will gather the contents.”

“Rey— I have no wish of your fortune.”

“Nor I,” she argues, “but we know not where this flight will take us— and there is our child to think of. Armitage can have his damned estate and whatever lies in the banks— but this is something he will never miss.”

He can’t help but be curious. “Just what lies in this safe?”

“Roughly one thousand pounds.”

He blanches. More than he’s ever seen— more than he could ever _hope_ to see. “My God, that’s—”

“Enough to ensure we will be cared for, for a good while at least. I won’t hear argument for this. This is my child as well.”

Ben can only nod— seeing her resolve and knowing there is little need to argue. “Tonight, then.”

His lips find her forehead, and she sighs in content. “Tonight.”

They straighten their clothes— Ben giving her one last kiss before he allows her to exit his study— none the wiser as to how he’s just defiled it so. He imagines it is no greater sin than anything else he’s fallen into since he met her— and he finds he cares just as little.

He doesn’t know what that says for him— but it matters not.

The only things that matters just walked out his door.

He busies himself to gather his meager possessions— telling himself that after tonight all will be well. That they will marry on the journey to London— and nothing and no one will stand in their way.

All _will_ be well.

It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It _has_ to be. 🙃


	9. True Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny ginger hurdle... 🙃  
> Shoutout to my poor friends fettuccine_alreylo, asongforjonsa, PoetHrotsvitha, and (as always) my wife ohwise1ne for listening to me whine about how unsure I was about this last full chapter. ❤️ Best gaggle of gals around. 🥰

Rey has found cause to re-evaluate things that she first might have considered a true _need_ in her life.

For as she packs away the remnants of her old life into her luggage case— there is hardly anything she finds to bring that she is as needful of as the person who will meet her in only a short time.

She finds there is little she _needs_ beyond Ben and the child they’ve made together.

She rubs a hand over her belly idly— still flat as if nothing lies beneath but she _knows—_ knows that inside her grows life born of love, and the mere _thought_ fills her with a joy she cannot describe.

She has left a letter addressed to Mr. Threepio with instructions to visit the bank tomorrow— to use the written consent she’s left behind to withdraw a portion of Lord San Tekka’s fortune and divest it amongst himself and the staff before Armitage can sink his talons into what he considers _rightfully_ his.

She only prays it will be enough.

Rey leaves her luggage in the stable— tucking it away in the inner workings of her late husband’s spare carriage— the simpler and less recognizable of the two that he owned. She hopes this will ensure no one will recognize it during their journey— it being her understanding that it rarely saw the light of day.

She chooses the two least conspicuous horses that belong to the estate— a liver chestnut mare and bay stallion that have always been of good temperament— hoping that Armitage is not familiar with the stables. Perhaps he won’t even miss them.

She takes great pains to conduct her business stealthily— the packing of her luggage, the emptying of her husband’s safe— not wanting to alert the staff that something was afoot. She wants to leave no one behind with the burden of having to pass along falsehoods for her benefit. Better that they know little or nothing at all.

She finds herself addled with nerves as she waits for nightfall— constantly checking the windows and doors for any sign of a darkening sky. So anxious to be _rid_ of the worry and fear that she has found in this place.

So ready to be _free._

She eats her dinner quietly— the staff milling about the house as they busy themselves with other things. She can’t help but feel delighted with the realization that she will never eat alone ever again. That she will never _be_ alone ever again.

It’s more than she could have ever hoped for.

She is so lost in thought that she hardly notices Kaydel’s entry— startling a bit as she suddenly addresses Rey.

“Pardon me, my lady,” she greets. “But there is something in the study that needs your attention.”

Rey turns her head in puzzlement. “My attention?”

Kaydel seems a bit out of sorts— wringing her hands slightly as she nods in affirmation. “Yes, ma’am— there is a bit of correspondence that arrived this afternoon I failed to alert you of. My apologies.”

Rey pushes from the table. “That’s quite all right— I can have a look at it now.”

 _It may be the last chance I get,_ she thinks.

She follows after Kaydel— moving through the dining room and the foyer to make towards her late husband’s study. Kaydel spares a glance over her shoulder before she opens the door— and Rey can’t help but think again that she seems… off somehow.  

She finds out quickly that she would have done well to heed her intuition.

No sooner does she press through the study door that a body appears from behind it— throwing an arm around Rey roughly as a hand covers her mouth.

Rey’s eyes widen at the sight of a rather large dagger pressing against her throat— a flood of fear coursing through her as Kaydel shrieks in protest.

“You _swore_ you wouldn’t hurt her!”

“I won’t,” comes a voice Rey recognizes all too well. “ _If_ she cooperates.” Rey feels her knees weaken as Armitage’s grip on her tightens— his sneer practically _felt_ as his breath washes over her ear. “You must think you’re terribly clever,” he growls. “With your little whore’s trick.”

“Armitage, I—”

“ _Quiet.”_ The tip of the blade grazes her throat and she whimpers as it knicks a stinging line there. “Did you laugh at me? Here in _my_ family’s house? Did you think you’d _won?”_

“ _No—_ please, I don’t want—”

“ _I said quiet!”_ His grip around her middle is _painful_ now— and her mind is fixed on her child— _Ben’s_ child. She has to escape this situation. She has to be _all right._ “There are documents on the desk,” he snarls. “And you’re going to sign them. You’re going to sign over the estate and my uncle’s fortune— or you’re going to perish under mysterious circumstances, and I will have them anyway.”

She keeps her thoughts on surviving— knowing this would have been his regardless on the morrow. She nods carefully— mindful of the blade at her throat. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll do _anything—_ just please, _please_ don’t hurt me.”

“Ah, so you _do_ know how to do as you’re told,” Armitage chuckles darkly. “And here I thought you hadn’t a bit of good sense to your name.”

Kaydel looks horrified across the room— nearly in tears as Armitage forces Rey forward towards the desk. Armitage outright laughs as he turns his head to regard her— turning back to let his mouth linger near Rey’s ear. “Never trust a servant,” he warns, “to do your dirty work. They can _always_ be exploited.” Hux turns his wrist to let the blade trace a malicious path over the length of Rey’s neck. “Kaydel here has a sick mother— did you know? One who might perish for lack of funds to get proper care. She found she would do _anything_ to save her.”

“ _Please_ ,” Kaydel whimpers. “Please don’t hurt her.”

“One more word,” Hux warns, “and your mother will die in her bed.”

Kaydel bites her lip— tears falling from her eyes freely now as she grows quiet.

“As for _you.”_ He returns his attention back to Rey as they come to rest beside the desk, gesturing towards the documents there. “ _Sign.”_

She doesn’t even hesitate— wriggling her hand free and reaching for the quill with trembling fingers. She manages her name and title— finishing her scrawl quickly and dropping the quill just as fast to see it done.

“There,” she says shakily. “It’s done. Now let me _go.”_

His arm around her middle shifts— his hand coming to smooth over the curve of her hip as she shudders in distaste from his touch.

“I don’t know,” he hums. “You’re nothing more than a street urchin now. What would you _do_ to avoid sleeping in the gutter?”

“Nothing that involves _anything_ with you,” she practically spits.

His fingers grip her waist so tight she knows he will bruise her. “Still think you’re _better_ than me do you?” The knife at her throat presses so close she dares not breathe. “I’ll _show_ you _exactly_ what you are— _nothing.”_

He reaches for her hair— fisting it to tug and her eyes water with the pain of it. He’s trying to force her across the desk, and blind panic seeps through her veins because she would rather _die_ than let him touch her.

With the force of their scuffle the press of his knife becomes slack— and Rey takes advantage of his distraction. She rears back with all her might— the back of her head connecting solidly with his nose even as it makes her dizzy with the blow. Armitage cries out in pain— and Rey dares not yield— finding his hand and sinking her teeth into the flesh there as he snarls in rage and drops the knife.

“You little _whore,”_ he howls.

Rey moves to escape but Armitage is faster— barreling into her and knocking her off balance as she trips— colliding with the desk as her head slams against the edge, and she sees stars. She slumps to the floor as a ringing sounds in her ears— pain coursing through her as she is left in a helpless heap.

Armitage is clutching his nose that has began to bleed— and Rey wearily thinks to herself that at least she caused him some ailment.  At least Ben will know she _fought._

_Ben._

She prays with all she has that he will be safe. That Armitage will never know of their connection. That Armitage will _never_ touch him. It’s all she can wish for now.

Armitage looms over her— knife in his hand and unadulterated _rage_ on his features. She knows this is the end. She closes her eyes— praying that it will be quick. That she will be afforded this small mercy.

She isn’t prepared for the shout or the _oomph_ of bodies colliding and she _certainly_ isn’t prepared for the sound of Armitage tumbling into the desk as it slides across the floor with the force of his body.

When she opens her eyes— she finds she isn’t prepared for the sight of _him_ either.

_Ben._

* * *

Ben has never felt anger like this.

It’s dark and _pulsing_ and it clings to his blood and his bones and _begs_ for release. For a _target._

Hearing Rey’s panicked voice— walking in to see Armitage throwing her to the _ground—_ putting his _hands_ on her.

Ben thinks he might be able to break this man with his own two hands.

Ben has never been a violent man— but in his youth there had been several causes for a need to know how to defend oneself. He hasn’t touched this part of himself in over a decade, but it springs forward now— itching to wrap its fingers around Armitage’s throat.

“You will not touch her again,” Ben warns— barely recognizing his own voice. “You will leave this house— either of your own accord or in _pieces—_ the choice is yours.”

Armitage sneers as he scrambles to stand— looking between Ben and Rey who is still sprawled on the floor— a fact that does nothing for the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t tell me,” Armitage outright laughs, peering down at Rey. “The _vicar?_ Oh, that is rich.” He shifts his attention back to Ben. “Tell me, Mr. Solo,” Armitage grins menacingly. “Did the little trollop have to beg you to her bed? Or were you truly that eager to wet your cock?”

Ben sees red— taking a step forward as his fingers clench, and he struggles to maintain his sanity. “Not another word.”

Armitage holds out the blade he’s gripping— pointing it towards Ben with a smirk. “Or what? Do you think you might pray me away? Perhaps the Lord will intervene? Take another step, and I’ll send you to him.”

Ben remains still— eyes flicking from Armitage to Rey. “I will collect Rey— and we will go. You can have your house and your fortune— we will never return to this place.”

Armitage narrows his eyes. “Why on Earth would you want a penniless clergyman?” He grimaces down at Rey. “Are you so accustomed to living in the dirt you would run back to it so eagerly?”  He scoffs then. “No. I won’t be shamed in such a manner. She is by all accounts _my family_ and I won’t abide by talk of _my aunt_ running off with a _vicar._ Do you think _anyone_ would believe that such an occurrence just _happened_ about after my uncle’s passing?” He shakes his head angrily. “It would take them only a moment to spark the rumor that you’d been warming her bed while my uncle lay dying in his own. It’s a disgrace to his memory! Such a shame will besmirch our name for _decades_. I won’t have it, I tell you. She will learn to live _here—_ or she won’t live anywhere.”

“You will _not_ touch her again,” Ben repeats through gritted teeth.

Armitage grins— the expression anything but pleasant on his pinched features— leaning down to reach for Rey’s arms with the intent of hoisting her up.

Ben never allows him to have the chance.

He moves across the room with a speed he hadn’t known he possessed— barreling into Armitage as he emits a heavy sound of surprise, and the pair of them fall over the desk.

Ben scrambles to try and wrestle the knife from Armitage— wrapping his hand around Armitage’s wrist to cease him from using it. Armitage’s hand finds Ben’s throat— gripping it tight as Ben struggles for air, and the pair of them become locked in a standstill.

Then Ben feels the the stomp of Armitage’s boot atop his own— the quick burst of pain jarring him enough so that Armitage is able to wriggle free. He elbows Ben in the chest with all the force he can muster— turning the tables until Ben finds _himself_ against the desk with a knife to his throat.

His hands wrap around Armitage’s— the only thing holding him back from slicing Ben’s throat— and he feels real fear then. He sees everything good he’s obtained dissipating before his eyes. Rey, his child, their _life_ together— all of it.

He doesn’t want it to end this way.

He struggles to break free— but Armitage has the upper hand now. He vaguely registers the frantic cries of Rey— and he wishes he could tell her it is all right. Tell her to _run._

But no words come.

As the knife presses closer— Ben wonders if this is the end. If this is how he will go. It shouldn’t end like this. It _can’t—_ but the knife draws closer— and Ben is helpless to stop it— and just a _little more_ and it will be—

Then everything stops.

Ben is surprised at first— when Armitage’s grip goes slack. When his body slumps forward and becomes limp. Ben is so stunned it takes several seconds for him to even register what has occurred— several seconds before he notices Kaydel standing just behind still clutching the bloodied marble bust of the late Lord San Tekka.

Her eyes are wide with shock— her grip on the bust trembling as if she cannot believe what she’s done. She drops it quickly as if it has burned her— her mouth opening and closing aimlessly as she watches Ben push Armitage’s limp form to the floor.

Ben looks between her and him— finally kneeling to assess as he presses  his fingers to Armitage’s throat. His own eyes widen then— looking up at Kaydel wildly.

“He’s _dead.”_

“I didn’t— I couldn’t—” Kaydel sputters. “He was going to _kill_ you.”

Ben isn’t listening— rushing to Rey’s side to pull her into his arms. “Are you all right?”

She nods weakly. “Just a tad bit dizzy— but I will live.”

“He shouldn't have ever touched you.” He pulls her tight against him as his lips find hers if only to remind himself that she is indeed all right. That she’s _here._ “I should I have been here.”

She shakes her head. “You got here just in time.”

Kaydel approaches with a weepy expression. “My lady, I’m so sorry— I never thought— he threatened my _mother_ and I— I didn’t know what to _do._ ”

Rey holds up a hand. “It’s all right, Kaydel. I bear you no ill will.” She attempts to stand— needing Ben’s help to steady her as she rises on shaky legs. “But you cannot stay here. None of you can.”

Kaydel nods. “Yes, my lady.”

Rey finds a single letter amongst the scattered mess of documents— handing it to Kaydel. “Give this to Mr. Threepio. It is in his name. He has been instructed to divest a large sum to each of you. Find a new place— be well. Tell _no one_ of what occurred today.”

Kaydel takes the letter with a quiet sob. “Yes, my lady.”

Rey manages a smile. “What did I say?”

“Yes… Rey,” Kaydel smiles back. “ _Thank_ you.”

She scurries out then— and Ben watches as Rey affords a look at her _late_ nephew. He doesn’t find even the slightest hint of remorse in her expression for Armitage’s fate.

“Ben,” she manages, pulling him from the bout of stunned silence he’s found himself in. “There are documents he brought— find them. We must destroy any evidence of what happened here.”

Ben nods dutifully— searching the floor until he finds the documents in question. He scans them quickly— scowling heavily before striding across the room to toss them in the coals that linger in the hearth and watching them crinkle and wither to nothing.

He returns to Rey’s side— wrapping an arm around her to steady her. “You’re _certain_ that you’re all right?”

“I swear it— we must leave, Ben. _Now._ Armitage’s death is clearly one of foul play. There is no explanation for it. We cannot risk waiting around for questions we have no answers for.” Her brow furrows then. “Have you left some explanation for your leaving? I do not wish for them to suspect you. I want you free of this.”

Ben nods. “A letter explaining I had urgent family business. I was very vague with the details and did not say where I might be headed. It is not entirely solid— but it will have to do.”

Rey frowns. “I suppose it will.”

“Your things?”

“Already in the carriage waiting. Yours?”

“Hidden in the bushes near the back of the estate.” He pulls her to face him as his hands cradle her jaw. “This is what you want? Things will never be the same, Rey— but if you come with me— I will be there for every day of our lives, and I will love you for all of them.” His hand drifts to press at her belly. “ _Both_ of you.”

Her hand covers his that still rests against her jaw— her thumb stroking the back idly as she pushes up on her toes to leave a kiss at his mouth.

“That’s enough,” she assures him. “That’s _more_ than enough.” Her free hand moves to cover the one at her belly, squeezing lightly. “We have all we need.”

He feels an overwhelming surge of relief and _joy_ then— having feared for a moment that he’d lost her. That he might have lost them _both_. There is nothing stopping them now. He kisses her soundly once more for good measure before he tugs her to go.

Neither of them spare a final look at Armitage's prone form— moving out of the study in a direct path to the stables.

They disappear into the night without a backward glance— leaving the past further and further behind with every mile they put between them and the manor— and looking only ahead to the future.

To _their_ future.

As the night stretches on and the moon hangs high in the sky— Ben doesn’t find himself thinking of Armitage or his parishioners or all of the things they will say when they are both found missing. None of it matters.

While he steers their carriage towards new beginnings— he thinks of the woman tucked away inside the carriage, of their child growing inside her— and he thinks to himself that Rey was right.

They have all they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bloody bastard is bested by a bloodied bust. 🙃 Only an epilogue left! ❤️


	10. Fly Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry for delay in the epilogue— I’m just... a squirrel. I get distracted so easily. But our pair are safe and happy. 🥰

Ben looks out at the crowd with a heavy heart.

Such an affair had not been what he’d expected for his first task after having finally received another living— but he can’t help but appreciate how fitting it seems.

It is, after all, what started them on this path.

He smooths a hand over his Geneva bands as he directs his attention back to the newly bound word of God he’d been gifted after having arrived— letting the resonant words of the prayer ring out amongst the crowd as the departed’s family cling to each other with a solemn air.

_“Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.”_

He hears a collection of muttered _amen_ s— and Ben finishes the service with a note of hope as he conveys the promise of the Lord’s kingdom for their brother who has passed on.

He allows the family their moment of grief near the casket— holding his Bible close to his heart as he catches an eye in the crowd that forever holds his attention.

There is the briefest of smiles there that doesn’t belong— a flash of joy that even after all this time has yet to dim in the slightest. Then it is gone— tucked away to allow a more appropriate expression for such a morose affair.

Ben can’t help but let his eyes linger on the way she tightens her arms around the tiny bundle there, as he often does. If it weren’t for the grieving parishioners, he has no doubt he would be unable to fight the grin he’s locking away in this moment.

He’s never felt peace like this.

* * *

They shake his hand after— they thank him for what he’s done.

Ben knows he and Rey are lucky, so very lucky.

They found peace halfway across the country, and yet he knows some days she still fears discovery. It’s what led her to take a new name— other than his own, of course.

A young couple he recognizes from Sunday service lingers in the drawing room with them— their countenance kind and their smiles genuine.

“That was a lovely service, Mr. Solo,” the lady tells him.

Ben gives a short bow of his head. “I appreciate your kindness, Mrs?”

“Forgive us,” the man interrupts. “Where are our manners? Poe Dameron.” He extends a hand for Ben to shake, and Ben takes it. Mr. Dameron gestures to his wife then. “This is my wife, Mrs. Paige Dameron.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Ben offers. “I have yet to memorize all of the names of the parish— I beg you will grant me forgiveness.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mr. Dameron assures with a wave of his hand. “I for one am happy to see a bit of new blood in the rectory. Mr. Tarkin— God rest his soul, of course— my word. There were mornings I nearly fell to the floor with the weight of my eyes at his droning.”

Ben tries his very best not to smile— but he feels his lips twitch at the corners, and Mrs. Dameron pats his arm chidingly as she offers Ben a look of apology. “Forgive my husband, Mr. Solo, I dare say there isn’t a thought that enters his head that he finds himself able to hold onto.”

“That’s quite all right,” Ben offers genuinely.

The pair of them direct their attention to the person standing next to him then, and then focus on what she’s cradling.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Dameron gushes. “Your family, I presume?”

Ben does allow himself a wide smile then. “Yes, this is my wife, Mrs. Kira Solo.”

Mrs. Dameron offers a grin to Rey— or rather, _Kira—_ a name Rey had taken from her late mother to better protect them after their hasty marriage. _“_ A pleasure, Mrs. Solo.” Mrs. Dameron beams down at Rey’s arms. “And who might this be?”

Rey shuffles so that the lady can get a better look— presenting a sleeping infant with soft features and a mop of dark curls the same shade as his. “This is our son, Benedict.”

“Such a handsome child,” Mr. Dameron offers politely. “You must be very proud.”

Ben nods warmly. “Immensely.”

Mrs. Dameron requests to hold Benedict then— and Rey only hesitates for a moment before pressing the child into the woman’s arms to watch her coo over him.

“You know,” Mrs. Dameron says quietly. “We have a daughter of nearly the same age. Elizabeth is her name. She’s at home now with our governess. I would love for you to come by and visit sometime, Mrs. Solo.”

Rey beams. “That sounds lovely.”

“We have a darling little pianoforte— do you play duets?”

“Only when forced,” Rey grimaces, and Mrs. Dameron chuckles at her expense.

“My darling husband insists I further my prowess at the blasted instrument— but I find the entire thing dull. With a partner perhaps… oh, you must come by.”

“I will be sure to stop for a visit at my earliest convenience,” Rey assures her.

They continue to chat amongst themselves quietly, and Ben is grateful for the reprieve from the melancholy affair of the funeral. He knows he will soon be forced to mingle amongst the parishioners to offer comfort— and although it worries him to leave Rey and Benedict alone— he is glad to have found a young couple much like themselves. He hopes that a friendship can be formed.

The baby begins to stir then— loosing a mewling cry, and Mrs. Dameron coos softly as she offers Benedict back into Rey’s arms.

Mr. Dameron watches the exchange with a kind smile, leaning towards Ben. “Benedict, eh? It’s a good strong name.” He nods thoughtfully. “I believe it means _a blessing_ does it not?”

Ben watches his wife holding their child as she soothes the infant— a blithe smile at his mouth as Rey looks up with a loving expression before tucking their son further against her to rock him back-and-forth.

“Yes,” Ben answers quiet. “A blessing.”

Perhaps one day there will be punishment for the path he and Rey have taken to find themselves here. Perhaps one day there will be retribution.

Ben can hardly dwell on such a possibility. Not with his love and this life and their _child—_ not with the way Rey looks at him now.

 _His little dove_.

They have all they need.

 

 **_Psalm 55:6_ ** _So I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove!_ _I would fly away and be at rest.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was such a fun challenge, and so grateful to my sweet Kelly for the beautiful prompt. ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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